


Pray for the Painter

by servalansflowers19



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: 99 percent canon compliant, AC Brotherhood, Abstergo Industries, F/M, Humor, Italy, Minor Character Death, Modern Day nerdy assassins, Modern Era (only as a backdrop), Original Character(s), Painting, Romance, art restoration, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25176958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servalansflowers19/pseuds/servalansflowers19
Summary: A brief romantic interlude set during Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue - Remember me for centuries

_Alla signorina Saggezza Della Serenissima_

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Now enter the OTHER password: **********

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***NOW YOU CAN TALK - Bishop***

**_THE_GRAND_RESTORER_ ** _has joined the chat_

THE_GRAND_RESTORER **:** **@Heart-of-Iron** I’m here

**_HEART-OF-IRON_ ** _has joined the chat_

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Hey

HEART-OF-IRON: Hey

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Good to see you.

HEART-OF-IRON: Same

**_BLACK_FEATHER_ ** _has joined the chat._

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: **@BLACK_FEATHER** She’s still camping out at your place?

BLACK_FEATHER: yes she is, you jealous?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: So **@Heart-of-Iron** , how is life in breakup land?

HEART-OF-IRON: Safety and fuck you TG

BLACK_FEATHER: jeez man, good to see you too

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I was asking sincerely.

HEART-OF-IRON: Sure you were. I'm ok

HEART-OF-IRON: Were you just bored or did you have a reason to ping us?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I did have a reason, my dear ladies. I landed a paying job.

BLACK_FEATHER: congrats but what’s that got to do with us?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: One of the many well-moneyed oligarchs bought up one of those crumbling villas that are selling for next to nothing here in Italy right now.

BLACK_FEATHER: a templar?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I don’t think so, but that’s not the point. When they started fixing up the villa, they found one of those double walls with a few paintings hidden in there.

HEART-OF-IRON: You say it like it’s a regular feature of Italian villas

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: You’d be surprised. People used them to hide stuff from Nazis, or the taxman.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Anyway

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: That’s how I landed the job. The paintings needed restoration.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: So I put them through the x-ray as well while I was at it.

BLACK_FEATHER: nice

BLACK_FEATHER: glad to see you doing science

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Art restoration IS science tyvm

BLACK_FEATHER: scrub those madonnas hard, _ragazzo_

HEART-OF-IRON: LOL you tell him

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Will you shut up for a moment

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: This was the painting that I wanted to tell you about.

_File uploaded: **vap_acsno_009.JPG**_

HEART-OF-IRON: Who is that?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: No idea.

BLACK_FEATHER: nice looking woman

BLACK_FEATHER: who painted it?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: It’s not signed. My best guess is that it’s a self-portrait.

HEART-OF-IRON: I can see a line of text on the bottom, under that cup with paintbrushes

HEART-OF-IRON: Is that italian?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: It’s Latin. It means ‘pray for the paintress’

BLACK_FEATHER: paintress?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Pintora means ‘a female painter’. That’s why I thought it might be a self-portrait.

BLACK_FEATHER: damn it’s dark, just face and hands against the shadow

BLACK_FEATHER: almost like Caravaggio

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Not nearly as good, but it has that intensity.

BLACK_FEATHER: did you date it?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Yeah, early 16th century, oil on wood.

HEART-OF-IRON: Nice, but what about it

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I put it through the x-ray. Now look at this. This is the underpainting with a pentimento.

HEART-OF-IRON: Penti what?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: The “repentance”. Means the artist started painting one thing and then altered it.

_File uploaded: **vap_acsno_009_xray.JPG**_

HEART-OF-IRON: I see smudges but yes

HEART-OF-IRON: So it started as a different painting

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: YES

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: IT DID

BLACK_FEATHER: why so excite

HEART-OF-IRON: That one looks like a man

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I’ll send you a cleaned-up scan.

_File uploaded: **can_you_see_it_now.JPG**_

HEART-OF-IRON: oh fuck

BLACK_FEATHER: fukc me

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Can I gloat now?

HEART-OF-IRON: ITS HIM

HEART-OF-IRON: ITS HIM ISNT IT!!!

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I think so.

BLACK_FEATHER: well well well

BLACK_FEATHER: can you visit the villa?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Not quite yet. I’ll try later.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: But it gets better.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: **@Black_feather** Do you still have that rig in your basement?

HEART-OF-IRON: She does

HEART-OF-IRON: It’s not even in the basement

HEART-OF-IRON: The crazy bitch keeps her DIY animus in the house

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: **@Black_feather** one day someone from that research institute of yours will ask where all the machinery is going

BLACK_FEATHER: hahahah good luck i am untouchable

BLACK_FEATHER: i am the token black dyke in a Swiss Abstergo institute

BLACK_FEATHER: i tick so many inclusivity boxes for the price of one

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Hope you’re right.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Anyway

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: There were DNA samples on the painting

HEART-OF-IRON: FUCK

HEART-OF-IRON: THE WOMAN’S??

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: No idea.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I can’t get the painting out of Italy, but I can send you a little DNA care package.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I thought it may be a nice distraction.

HEART-OF-IRON: Yes please!

BLACK_FEATHER: god yes

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Just promise me you won’t tell Bill or Gavin.

BLACK_FEATHER: of course

HEART-OF-IRON: Just so I don’t fry my brain too soon, can you give me a date range

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Initially I’d try 1500 – 1510.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I suspect 1503 may be closer to the mark.

BLACK_FEATHER: easy enough to scale and/or fast forward

HEART-OF-IRON: SEND IT SEND IT SEND IT

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Consider it done! J You can stand by the gate and wait for the mailman.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Let me know what you find, OK?

HEART-OF-IRON: Of course!

BLACK_FEATHER: guess I’ll go warm up the oven i mean the animus

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: And be safe.

HEART-OF-IRON: You too, TG

HEART-OF-IRON: Thank you

BLACK_FEATHER has left the chat.

HEART-OF-IRON has left the chat.

Closing Helix 3.0 client...

NO CONNECTION


	2. The Swagger of a Champion

Peaceful was not a good word to use when describing Rome, especially since the new pope, Julius III, gave the order to pull apart the remains of the old basilica. The crashing of masonry and the shouts of workmen carried across the Tiber. The noise mixed with the cries of street hawkers and curses of wagon drivers.

And yet, as Ezio Auditore strolled along the streets, the cacophony of the busy spring day sounded like music. Rome was free, the new pope knew when to keep his mouth shut and the city went about its business without heartrending screams. After all the years the Brotherhood had spent getting rid of the Borgias, this was peace, or as close to it as it would get.

It would be a good day to visit his sister, he figured. Claudia would be happy to hear he had taken her advice to heart. The maddening search for Cesare Borgia could wait a little. Their contacts in Spain would let him know any important news. He could spare himself hours of staring into the broken, painful glare of ‘that accursed monstrosity’, as Claudia called the Apple of Eden.

They had argued about it after he told her he was going to visit Florence.

“I was just asked to give my advice on another painting of the Pazzi conspiracy!” Ezio had defended himself. “Who better than me?”

Claudia had almost slapped him at that.

“You were going to take it with you, and go straight to Leonardo,” his sister had accused him.

Ezio had relented. Perhaps some dullness was better at present. After all, perhaps this mural would get scrapped as quickly as Boticelli’s one had been. As for Leo, at the pace that man worked, he would be in Florence for a while.

Ezio decided to avoid the attentions of his sister’s chattering employees. Instead, he went around the side of Rosa in Fiore. The days having finally turned sunny, Claudia would be spending more time outside. Ezio winked at one of the guards and quietly started climbing up to the balcony at the back of the building.

He stopped just below the balustrade as he heard voices. One was Claudia, to be sure, but the other was unfamiliar.

“That is just perfect,” his sister was saying. “Margherita will be delighted.”

“If it improves her marriage prospects, I have done my job right,” a slightly deeper female voice replied.

“It should indeed. And there will be more, to be sure. I’m happy to see the girls marry,” Claudia was saying.

“It was a pleasure,” the other woman replied. “Although you may be paying me too much.”

Ezio sighed inwardly. A marriage broker was possibly the least interesting person with whom they could pass the time of day. Still, Claudia was looking after her girls. At least a grand entrance may get a rise out of the matchmaker and make his sister laugh. He landed behind the large laurel bushes on the edge of the balcony, then strolled out casually, making a slight bow to the two women.

The reaction from the guest was satisfying, a jolt and a confused glance from him to the edge of the balcony and back again. However, if the woman sitting beside Claudia was a matchmaker, she did not dress with as much panache as he would have expected.

“How wonderful to see you,” Claudia said dryly. “Is something wrong with the door?” Turning to her visitor, she shrugged. “I’m so sorry. In case you have not guessed already, allow me to introduce my brother.”

The woman inclined her head politely.

“ _Messer_ Ezio Auditore,” she said. “I’ve heard of you, of course.”

Ezio smiled at her. He noticed the object that sat on the small table between the two women. It was a small portrait on wood. The girl in the portrait looked very familiar. He was sure he had seen her around Rosa in Fiore before, even if her clothing in the portrait was far more respectable.

“Is that La Gallinetta?” he asked. Claudia nodded.

“That’s Margherita’s nickname around here,” she explained to her guest. “Ezio, this is Lucia Fabbri. She’s been kind enough to paint a few portraits for the girls who are looking to get married.”

Again, Lucia merely inclined her head, looking him over. What Ezio had taken for a flicker of curiosity had been that painterly glance he had noticed in Leo. He settled down into a chair next to Claudia.

“Kindness?” Lucia said. “I do not work for free.”

Claudia shook her head.

“Nor should you. I am glad you took this up. I know you do not enjoy portraiture much.”

Ezio let them talk, enjoying the careless banter. He found his eyes straying from the portrait of the very respectable Gallinetta to the painter herself.

“Yes, but people order portraits, not phantasms and allegories,” Lucia was saying.

“Ezio, our _maestra_ here prefers to paint animals as portraits. And they are hilarious.”

He laughed.

“Will you commission a portrait, then, Claudia?”

For a moment, Claudia stared dreamily at the spring sky.

“I’d love to be painted as an otter,” she said. Lucia nodded.

“That is a good match.”

“I still do not understand why you painted our mutual friend as an owl,” Claudia commented. Lucia merely raised her eyebrows.

“Inspiration commanded it, I suppose,” she said. She collected a large black shawl and wrapped herself in it. “Thank you again, Claudia. I am sorry to leave, but I should make the most of the daylight.”

Claudia rose to see her visitor out. Ezio examined the painting once again.

“You are becoming like Mother,” he commented once his sister returned. “Sponsoring an artist is a noble thing.”

“I do like both her and her work,” Claudia said. “Now, are you going to swing off again, or will you stay to have lunch with us?”

Ezio leaned back in his seat with a sigh of contentment.

“I shall gladly stay.”

***

Ezio saw Lucia Fabbri again a few days later. He spotted her as the painter made her way carefully through the crowded street with a crate in her arms. Admittedly intrigued, he caught up to her.

“ _Madonna_ Fabbri, can I help you with that?”

The words stopped her in her tracks. Ezio gave himself a moment to appreciate how the escaped strands of hair framed her face.

“I can hardly refuse,” Lucia sighed. He looked down at the crate loaded with panels of wood and jars of oil.

“Could your supplier not deliver this to your house?” Ezio asked as they walked along, the crate now in his arms.

“I am too stingy to pay for a porter,” came the response. “And I spend too much time sitting motionlessly as it is.”

Ezio examined the contents of the crate in his arms.

“No _gesso_?” he asked curiously. “Do you mix your own?”

Lucia blinked at him with undisguised surprise.

“I must ask,” she said. “How do you even know about _gesso_?”

Ezio looked at her sadly.

“How harshly you judge me, _madonna_ ,” he said plaintively. “Why would I not know about such things? I happen to have a great love of painting, and good friends who paint.”

Lucia offered a most polite apology. She motioned in front of her.

“To the left here, please. It is not far.”

Ezio stopped as if to eye the street corner.

“Over there, by that little fountain?” he asked, bending one knee ever so slightly and consequently brushing against her shoulder. Lucia stepped back as if burned.

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Are you going to paint my sister as an otter?” Ezio said conversationally. The street was not very long. He was starting to suspect he would be dismissed shortly.

“Perhaps,” came the rather terse reply.

“And how would you paint me?”

Lucia did not even pretend to consider the question.

“A cat, _messere_ ,” she replied quickly. “One of those self-possessed tomcats leisurely preening on a sun-baked wall.”

Ezio attempted to look hurt.

“Such a harsh judgement, and you have only just met me,” he protested.

“You move like a cat,” she replied. “Would that be enough?”

To Ezio’s disappointment, they soon stopped at a small building on the corner of two streets. Lucia pulled a heavy iron key from a pocket. Ezio eyed the small house. It looked like one of those places with a single small room over a small kitchen. Neighbouring roofs crowded around a small balcony shielded by a curtain of vines. He silently counted the windows.

“There can’t be much light in there,” he said out loud.

“There isn’t, _messere_. That’s why I make the most of that little balcony while the sun shines,” Lucia explained as she unlocked the door. “But it is sufficient.”

She held out her arms.

“My crate, if you please.”

The tone dismissed any possibility of being invited to step inside. Ezio handed over the crate.

She thanked him politely. He assured her it had been a most pleasurable chore and held the door for her, but then she pushed it back without further farewells. He heard the key turn on the other side.

***

Ezio said to himself that is was only to be expected: at the end of a day filled with endless letters, questions and directions, Niccolò Machiavelli would show up, unannounced as always, just as Ezio had poured himself a drink and put his feet up on a desk covered with papers. He had heard the man’s voice echoing down the hallway of the Tiber hideout.

“Am I interrupting a contemplative moment?” his visitor said by way of greeting.

Ezio shook his head.

“Yes and no,” he replied, swinging his booted feet off the desk. He looked at one of the drawings on the wall, a not-too-well replicated fighting schematic from the Codex. Niccolò joined him.

“I thought you were going to ask _maestro_ da Vinci to recreate those.”

Ezio sighed.

“I did, and he took his sweet time, as is his custom, and then ran off to Florence for a commission.” He grinned as a thought crossed his mind. “Perhaps I should ask _maestra_ Lucia to do it.”

Niccollo frowned.

“Not Lucia Fabbri, Vincenzo Fabbri’s wife?”

“A wife?” Ezio cleared his throat quickly. “I meant to say, whose wife?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever met him. A Brother by the name of Vincenzo Fabbri. He operated from Milan, but an injury made him pull back from the Brotherhood work somewhat. He partially settled down, which is when he married Lucia.”

“And is he in Rome now?”

Niccolò shook his head sadly.

“Poor Vincenzo was killed three or so years ago,” he explained. “Unfortunately, the past work caught up with him, as it were.”

“Why is his widow living here?”

“I felt honour bound to see to her after Vincenzo’s death. She ran from Milan to her native Parma when the French came, but the war caught up to her there as well. When she informed me of this, I decided to help her set up in Rome.” He gave Ezio a small smile. “You cleaned it up so well, I thought it would be safe even for a lone young widow.”

Ezio felt a pang of guilt at his own feeling of relief. A happy question came to his rescue.

“Are you the one she painted as an owl?” he asked with a deadpan face.

Niccolò bristled.

“That was not quite the thanks I expected for finding her work in Rome. But I have decided to take it as a compliment, considering the owl is the bird of Athena,” he grumbled. “Did your sister tell you about it?”

Ezio clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, when she introduced me to the artist herself. At least you were not called a tomcat,” he added.

“A what?”

Ezio turned to grab another cup.

“Never mind. Would you like a drink before you start talking at me?”


	3. Colours and Promises

The oars splashed softly in the dark waters of the river Tiber. Ezio sat close to the prow, chin in hands, staring into the murky eddies left by the paddles. The evening outing to the Roman _campagna_ had been Claudia’s idea. It was in memory of some long-gone Roman spring festival, or perhaps the day now belonged to a Christian saint. Whatever the excuse, Claudia had decided to take some of the girls and their sweethearts for a night under the stars. There would be no clients, no oversight, no plotting, just a large bonfire and all the wine they could drink.

Ezio had suggested that, while the _campagna_ was safer than it used to be, it could not hurt to take some of his ‘boys and girls’ along as well, and then the younger recruits had asked if he would come along. Yes, he would, he had agreed. He was not sure what they would be celebrating, but it could not be wrong to do so.

Sitting in the prow – they would not have dreamed of letting the mentor row! - he pondered how much things had changed in the last few years. People had asked him for protection, and he protected as many as he could. People had come to him for help, and he had helped whenever he could. The recruits came to him for advice, and he advised as best he could. But now people did not need as much help or protection, and the recruits did not need as much advice. Instead, they came to him for wisdom, which he was not at all sure he could give.

He stared into the dark water, feeling strangely helpless. What wisdom he had managed to glean from the world, he had put to some use, or so he hoped. But what wisdom was expected from him now? Was it the incomprehensible wisdom of paintings made of light and strange names, or the comforting yet dry wisdom of someone who had lived four centuries before him? One was as ephemeral as a dream. The other, just the dry rustling of the inexpertly copied pages of the Codex.

His ruminations were interrupted by the sound of clashing oars. Apparently, the two boats – the Brotherhood boat and the Rosa in Fiore boat – had managed to almost collide in midstream, no doubt on purpose. The oarsmen were now duelling across the span of oars, exchanging finely crafted insults and dares. Ezio glanced over to the other boat. It was a great deal more colourful and far louder. Some of the girls were tossing flowers as though they were lethal weapons.

He spotted Lucia Fabbri seated next to his sister in a group of giggling ladies. A bottle was passing around. The sight made him remember his conversation with Machiavelli. In turn, he felt uncomfortable, as though he owed _madonna_ Fabbri an apology which he could not make.

An hour or so later, he was looking over a small clearing in the old ruins. The wine had been flowing freely and there was much laughter around the large fire. He watched one of his youngest students, the aptly named little Fiametta, put the boys to shame by jumping like a mountain cat over the fire without even getting singed. Some of Claudia’s girls were clapping in delight, and some have already disappeared with their sweethearts among the shadows of the crumbling walls and fallen pillars.

Ezio looked up at the remains of a colonnade and nodded to himself. There was Agnesca, comfortably perched on top of the colonnade, hood up, quietly keeping an eye on the surrounding countryside. Ezio looked over to where the corner of the wall still stood, the other high point in the clearing. Sure enough, there was the ever-quiet Renato, also not fond of noise and loud company, keeping watch in his corner. Every now and then their hands would flash white against their cloaks, exchanging messages in thieves’ cant.

There would be no need to say anything. Once the watchers got tired, they would quietly slip back into the jolly crowd and tap someone’s shoulder to swap with another watcher, although Renato would probably be content to sit the whole night out in the quiet, dividing his attention between the road and the starry sky. Ezio felt a small touch of pride.

Another dark figure sat on a fallen pillar far from the crowd. He squinted into the gloom and realised it was Lucia. She was sitting ramrod straight, one hand folded over her waist.

Ezio sighed. There was no polite way to explain why he owed her an apology. On the other hand, the feeling would nag at him until he had set things right. Ezio grabbed two forgotten cups from the grass and filled them with wine before making his way to the painter.

He offered her a cup of wine in place of a greeting. Lucia accepted graciously enough. Ezio sat down on the fallen pillar at what he judged to be a respectful distance.

“I feel I owe you an apology, _madonna_ Fabbri,” he said sincerely.

“What for, _messere_?”

“Our mutual friend, Niccolò, told me about your husband,” Ezio said evenly. “It was remiss of me not to know that, and not to give you my condolences.”

Lucia turned to look at him. In the light of the fire, she was made of warm shadows. To Ezio’s relief, she smiled.

“Thank you,” she said simply, but warmly. “It is a kindness to poor Vincenzo.”

“I am sorry to say I have never met your late husband in person.”

Lucia took a sip of the wine.

“But there is nothing to apologise for. He deserved a more dignified death, but then again, so have many in these miserable few years.” Lucia sighed. “Vincenzo was a kind man, and a kind husband. I was remiss not to mention him to you. That time may be already starting to feel somewhat distant.”

She stared intensely at the group around the fire. Her hair melted into the shadows beyond them. Ezio caught himself staring at the face and the hands that glowed with the warm light.

“I would not insult you by asking you if you wanted company, or a dance,” he said eventually.

Lucia smiled.

“I do not enjoy dancing all that much,” she said. “The company is not insulting, however.”

She kept staring at the fire, her eyes narrowing every now and then.

“What are you looking at?” Ezio asked, genuinely curious.

Lucia tapped her finger against the rim of her cup.

“The lie of colours” she said at last, still staring at the dancers around the fire. Ezio followed her gaze.

“Where is the lie?” he asked earnestly.

“All colour is a lie,” Lucia said softly. “I came here on the boat with the girls. They were as colourful as those flowers they carried. But now, against the fire, all of them are just dark shapes. The colour is gone. The fire has drained it.”

Ezio smiled.

“You would see it if you came closer,” he offered. Lucia shook her head slowly.

“The lack of colour makes it no less beautiful,” she said.

Voices raised in merriment reached their dark corner of the field. Ezio thought he heard his name.

“They’re calling for you,” Lucia said without looking at him. “Go ahead. I am fine here in the shadows.”

Ezio walked towards the merry crowd. The shouting was louder now, mingled with rowdy laughter. He looked over his shoulder to where Lucia sat.

Even in the dark, he could see her looking at him intensely, without blinking, one hand once more folded over her middle. She met his gaze calmly and raised her cup in salute before looking away.

***

Eventually the fire was allowed to die down. The pre-dawn chill roused the sleepy, the tipsy and the amorous alike. With a fair share of stumbling, the exhausted party made its way back to the boats. Unlike the previous night, no one took much care where they boarded. Ezio pulled his hood down and used the opportunity to grab an oar right behind where his sister and Lucia were sitting.

The two women whispered softly to each other, barely moving so as not to disturb the dozing shapes around them.

“Thank you again. I did enjoy this,” Lucia was whispering.

“I did not see you all night,” Claudia whispered back. “I thought you had died of boredom somewhere.”

“Not at all.”

Claudia sniggered.

“I hope you did not spend all night avoiding my brother.”

At that, Lucia snorted. Ezio grimaced at the oar on his hands.

“Lucia, he is a grown man, not some love-addled young thug,” Claudia said seriously. “You can just tell him to leave you alone.”

At this, Lucia laughed sharply, dismissively.

“Claudia, it has been some time, as you can imagine.”

“That is what - “

Lucia waved a hand, stopping the other woman’s explanation.

“Tell him to leave me alone? One touch and I’d burst into flame.”

Now it was Claudia’s turn to giggle and make a quiet, disparaging, un-sisterly remark. Ezio forgave her silently, smiling to himself while the boat made its way across the river.

Once on the other bank, the Rosa in Fiore contingent piled up happily into a waiting cart. The Brotherhood group from waved at the cart dismissively and took to the rooftops with more swagger than strictly necessary. Ezio followed his students’ example and tailed the cart until it stopped at Lucia Fabbri’s door. She unlocked the door and went in. The cart and its cargo of sleepy revellers trundled off. Ezio made his way past the little balcony, content that the lady was home and safe. He wondered what would be the nearest quiet spot to watch the sunrise in peace.

Inside Lucia’s house, something crashed. It sounded like a piece of furniture falling over. Ezio stopped. Next moment, there was another crash, like that of crockery breaking, and an angry groan. Uneven, angry footsteps thudded up the stairs, approaching the little balcony.

Ezio quietly stepped over the balcony rail and approached the wooden door. Lucia had not seemed drunk. He heard a string of blasphemous curses that sounded almost pained. He remembered the hand pressed to her waist. He looked through a crack in the balcony door.

Lucia almost stumbled into the room. She slammed a candlestick onto a small table crowded with painting supplies. Her hair had come undone and the other hand gripped her middle. She was still cursing through clenched teeth, her eyes squeezed shut. Ezio reached to open the door, but her next words stopped him instantly.

“Goddamn Florentine bastard,” Lucia breathed through clenched teeth. “Fuck you, and fuck your slick voice and your refined airs.” Before Ezio’s astonished eyes, she sank to her knees. The hand around her waist slipped lower and she clamped it with her thighs.

“’Tell him to leave you alone’,” Lucia panted. “I swear to sweet fucking Lord, I’ll burn.”

Another stream of blasphemous invocations followed, probably worthy of excommunication.

“You goddamn Florentine son of a bitch,” Lucia said weakly, shaking her head. “I’ll burn up like dry tinder.”

On the other side of the closed door, Ezio slowly shut his mouth, supressing both the urge to whistle in astonishment and to open the door. He made himself look away. The room fell silent except for quietly whispered curses and rustling of bed sheets.

He left the small balcony quietly and lowered himself onto the neighbouring roof. Above his head he spotted that other, lone window, which he now knew to be next to the bed. Chin in hand, he looked around.

A tall wooden box stood sharply outlined against the paling sky. It was perched on a flat section of a roof some distance from the window. Soft cooing could be heard from inside.

Ezio nodded to himself and moved on padded feet past Lucia’s window, picking up pace as he neared the edge of the roof. He swung past the pigeon coop, landed on the nearby roof with ease born of long practice and set off to find a good spot to enjoy the sunrise.


	4. Interlude 1.0

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THE_GRAND_RESTORER has joined the chat  
HEART-OF-IRON has joined the chat  
HEART-OF-IRON: You there TG?  
THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I’m here.  
THE_GRAND_RESTORER: How are you doing?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Also, I am sorry. I really did not mean to sound so crass about your recent troubles.  
HEART-OF-IRON: Don’t worry. I really am alright  
HEART-OF-IRON: Most of the time  
THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Still, I apologise. Has this time with Black Feather helped you any?  
HEART-OF-IRON: Not really. You know her: someone’s left you? Fuck them, their loss, chin up  
HEART-OF-IRON: But this thing you sent has helped  
HEART-OF-IRON: I was tired of sitting around doing fuck all  
THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Glad to hear it. I was worried.  
HEART-OF-IRON: Anyway, I haven’t found your painting, but I may have found your painter  
HEART-OF-IRON: And yes, it is a self portrait  
HEART-OF-IRON: Lucia Fabbri, lived in Milan, Parma and Roma around 1500s  
THE_GRAND_RESTORER: So it was her DNA samples?  
HEART-OF-IRON: Nope  
HEART-OF-IRON: Not hers >)  
THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Then whose?  
HEART-OF-IRON: Wouldn’t you love to know…  
THE_GRAND_RESTORER: COME ON  
HEART-OF-IRON: I’ll send you something more thorough in a day or two  
THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Can’t you just tell me? PLEASE  
HEART-OF-IRON: I love it when you beg :D  
HEART-OF-IRON: I need a little more time  
HEART-OF-IRON: Stew in peace, my friend  
HEART-OF-IRON has left the chat.  
THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Dammit  
Closing Helix 3.0 client...  
NO CONNECTION


	5. Take the fall and run to heaven

The shadows were growing long as Ezio made his way towards one of the pigeon coops. One of the younger recruits would be doing the rounds to check on the birds and the well-hidden stashes of weaponry and tools. Ezio had to intercept them before they discovered the bottle of wine he had secreted under the important pigeon coop two days earlier.

He was in luck. One pigeon coop from his final goal, he spotted a slight figure replenishing the bird feed. It was the little Fiametta, now quite recovered from the wild merriment of a few nights ago.

Ezio dropped to one knee on a roof above, placing himself out of Fiametta’s line of sight. Keeping an eye on his student, he scraped on a loose roof tile.

Fiametta passed with flying colours. She stopped moving immediately, but did not startle or jump. Still cooing to the birds, she carefully shut one of the hatches. Her right arm snaked behind her back to where she wore her knife belt.

Then she turned on one foot, eyeing the surrounding roofs while putting the coop between herself and anyone close by. The throwing knife in her hand was almost invisible. Quite content, Ezio whistled. Fiametta relaxed visibly and replaced the knife in her belt.

"Very well done, Fiametta,” Ezio said, landing next to her.

She smiled a little shyly.

“Were you checking on me, Mentor?”

“Only by coincidence. I’ve been waiting for a message, so I’ve come to check the birds,” Ezio lied smoothly. “But you did very well.”

“I’m improving at last,” Fiametta said self-consciously. “But my legs still need a lot more work.”

Ezio patted his student on the shoulder. “That will come with time. From what I saw the other night, you leap like a cat.”

Fiametta waved a hand dismissively.

“It’s easy enough to land on firm ground. Roof tiles still give me trouble.”

Ezio scanned the nearby rooftops.

“Tell you what,” he suggested. “I need to have a look at the coop to the south.” He pointed int he direction of Lucia’s house. “I’ll take care of that side, and you can take care of the ones around the steeper roofs. There’s your practice.”

“But it’s my job to -”

Ezio raised a calming hand.

“Indulge me, Fiametta. I need to check something there anyway.”

Once the girl had run off in the opposite direction, Ezio took the first shortcut that would get him to his destination. Sunset was still a few hours away. Lucia may still be out on the balcony.

She was not. The balcony was shuttered. Clean paintbrushes, still dripping wet, were drying in the afternoon sun. The window was partially open and Ezio could hear movement inside. He busied himself with the pigeons, making as much noise as possible. To his delight, one of the birds fluttered excitedly. He spoke to it loudly, took it out of the coop and slammed the hatch with far more force than necessary, causing even more noise.

As expected, Lucia’s window opened and she leaned out, angrily looking for the source of the noise. Ezio let go of the bird. It careened into Lucia’s window, fluttering excitedly, and settled down on the windowsill.

Lucia stared at the bird curiously, as though wondering if it was worth cooking. She looked out towards the pigeon coop. Spotting Ezio, she blinked in surprise.

“What in the world are you doing with this poultry, _messere_?” she called out.

“It’s hardly poultry, _madonna_ Fabbri. But I would be much obliged if you’d return the bird.”

He walked across the roof to the section that jutted out underneath Lucia’s window. Lucia leaned over the windowsill with the pigeon in her hands. Ezio reached up, taking a moment to appreciate the rather appealing view.

The bird, growing tired of this rough handling, pecked at Lucia, who dropped it with a curse. They both watched the pigeon flutter back to the coop.

“I hope that suffices, _messer_ Ezio,” Lucia said dryly, shaking a stray feather off her sleeve.

“Apologies for interrupting your work,” Ezio said politely.

“I was not getting much done,” Lucia shrugged.

“Since I am here, would you allow me to ask you something?”

Lucia snorted with laughter.

“If you want to talk, I suppose you had better come in,” she said, stepping away from the window.

“Is the door unlocked?” Ezio called out from below. She reappeared and leaned over again.

“The door? With your reputation, I’d imagine your prowess in entering houses with locked doors and open windows would be legendary.”

He had to laugh at that. Shaking his head, he gripped the windowsill and swung over it, landing in the room.

It was a small room, as he had judged. The business of living was conducted elsewhere, probably in the slightly more spacious kitchen below. Here she kept her painting supplies on a range of more or less rickety shelves and tables. A candlestick sat on a large chest by a simple, but sturdy-looking bed.

The walls were strangely bare, if one overlooked the paintings ranged here and there in different stages of completion. A strong fragrance of thyme and sage drifted up the stairs from the room below. Ezio recognised another familiar scent, that of linseed oil. He noticed stoppered bottles by the wall.

He almost smacked his forehead in frustration. The spectacle in the window had distracted him and he had forgotten about the wine.

“You see, you did not need the door after all,” Lucia smiled.

Ezio shrugged.

“The Roman matrons are terrible gossips. I did not want them to go around saying they saw a man climbing in through your window in broad daylight.”

Lucia crossed her arms.

“Fra Domenico from down the road would be delighted. He despairs of my unworldly ways.”

Ezio raised his eyebrows.

“That’s an odd thing for a friar to complain about.”

Lucia sighed.

“Franciscans, what can you do? He worries that I shall wilt, and that I do not get enough fresh air. I would presumably get it if I walked to his sermons,” she shrugged. “What did you want to ask me?”

Spears of sunlight lanced through the cracks in the balcony door. As Lucia stepped towards the table and sat down, he saw her in a web of light and shadow, skin glowing gold where the sun touched it.

“I wanted to check something,” Ezio said light-heartedly as he sat down opposite her. “If you’ll permit me?”

With a slight bow, he reached out and took her hand, looking at it with great concentration. Her hand did not tremble. The palm was dry and felt like a warm coal under his touch. Lucia looked down at her hand in his, then back into his eyes.

“You see?” Ezio said with a smile, releasing her hand. “You have completely failed to catch on fire. I’m glad your concern was completely unfounded.”

She flushed and frowned, looking far more angry than embarrassed. Ezio forestalled her next question.

“I was on the same boat as you and my sister the other night,” he said apologetically. “It seemed fair to allay your worries.”

Lucia stood up, face like thunder. She stepped up to his chair and stood over him, ramrod straight.

“And what else did you hear, _messere_?” she hissed down at him.

Ezio smiled up into the wrathful face. Her expression dared him to lie.

“Only some blasphemies that your Fra Domenico would find quite disturbing, and several terrible insults to my hometown and my family,” he said timidly.

Lucia’s hand flew up to his cheek, but the expected slap never landed. Instead, she gripped his face with one hand. He felt the nails digging into the side of his neck.

“And how did you come to hear those?” she said evenly.

Once again, Ezio sought refuge in complete truthfulness.

“I would have been on my way once I saw you home safely,” he explained. The grip did not weaken, and the nails sank in a little deeper. “But then I heard things smashing, and a sound like someone groaning in pain.”

“So you stopped to check,” Lucia nodded, still not letting go. “Very kind, _messer_ Ezio. Yet you refrained from coming to my succour.”

Motes of light danced in front of her face. The large eyes reflected the warm afternoon sunlight. The hand on his cheek was warmer still.

Ezio would have shaken his head, but the grip only tightened.

“Would I have been the right person to help you with that particular burden?” he asked innocently.

The claw-like grip was released. Ezio still looked at her, not moving. The hand that had gripped his face moved slowly upwards to settle on his hair. Lucia stepped closer, gently but insistently bringing his head towards her waist. Ezio breathed in deeply. Her dress smelled of sage and wood fire.

He heard cloth rustling. Lucia hoisted the hem of her dress up until she straddled both him and the chair to settle down in his lap. Ezio looked up at her. The hand tangled in his hair tugged gently. He closed his eyes and brushed his lips over the bare skin below her neck as lightly as he could.

He felt cold metal on his lips and opened his eyes again. A silver medallion on a short chain hung from Lucia’s neck. He picked it up and looked at it.

“It is my name saint,” Lucia said quietly.

“Wasn’t Saint Lucia the one who could not be martyred on a pyre? The flames did not harm her,” Ezio asked.

“Good for her,” Lucia said quietly. With her free hand she pulled the medallion over her head. The silver chain tinkled as she let it drop on the table next to them.

Ezio put his hands on her waist carefully, without gripping, still looking at her face. Her hands wrapped around his head again. She straightened up, rising over him slightly, and finally lowered her face to his.

Lucia leaned into the kiss with her entire body, drawing the breath from him like someone thirsty desperately reaching for water. The heat of the room and of her hands seemed to gather within that movement, and Ezio felt it run through him, all but nailing him to the chair. Once freed, he eagerly pressed his mouth just under her jaw. Lucia hissed, a sound like heated iron touching cool water, and whimpered, both hands now tangled in his hair.

Ezio leaned back to look into her eyes again. She reached for the clasp that held his cloak in place and he nodded. He let her unlatch the leather belt that held his sword and heard it clatter to the ground.

“Are we both disarmed now?” she asked quietly. Ezio shook his head at her.

“Not quite.”

His hand reached for the strings that tightened the front of Lucia’s dress.

“Before I completely disarm myself, can I at least see what I am up against?” he asked.

Lucia moved his hand away and pulled on the strings herself. The cloth loosened, falling away. As she moved, the sleeves slipped from her shoulders.

The view was inviting rather than threatening. Ezio sank his face eagerly into her chest. The hand in his hair twitched. He responded to every tug as he saw fit, either with a gentle nibble or with a flick of his tongue. Hands on Lucia’s waist, he eased her off his lap so they could both stand up.

“One moment,” he whispered. He really had to get the bracer with the blade off his forearm. He unclasped it and then almost started as a Lucia’s hands expertly slipped the bracer off.

Lucia was holding the bracer perfectly, without risking injury to herself but also without any risk to the fine mechanism. The smooth, unthinking movement must have come from long practice in helping someone both equip and remove the weapon.

Instead of her quickened breath, he heard the conversation from weeks ago in his head. Niccolò never said that Vincenzo had left the Brotherhood behind after marrying his young wife.

Ezio looked sadly at Lucia over the weapon they both now held in their hands. She looked back at him with an equally concerned face.

At last she spoke.

“But I have told you there is nothing to apologise for,” she said in the same serious, calm voice he had heard during the revelry in the campagna. She picked up the bracer and placed it carefully on the table, in just the right way.

“I feel like an arrogant ass nonetheless,” Ezio said.

“Are you doing this out of charity, _messere_?” Lucia asked coldly, motioning to her half-open dress, then to him.

Although she had not moved an inch, Ezio felt like the expected slap had finally landed. He almost raised a hand to his cheek.

“Of course not,” he affirmed.

“Then do not insult me like that,” she said, her voice sad rather than angry.

“My god,” Ezio gasped. “I would never dare pity you.”

“Then do as you dare,” she replied.

“Very well,” he said, and gave himself over to those skilful, expectant arms.

***

The last colours of sunset were fading as Ezio woke up from a relaxing doze. He listened to the sound of bells ringing for Vespers nearby. He wondered what Fra Domenico would say if he knew how the member of his flock was spending this liturgical hour. Lucia was fast asleep on his shoulder. He could feel her even breathing on his chest.

He could also feel the welts her nails had left all over his skin. Each touch had been like a hot needle, a sting that promised and demanded at the same time. She had all but slithered over him, sighing and rolling like someone slipping into warm water at the end of a long day. Eyes closed, he had heard nothing but shuddering breaths and soft clicking of chattering teeth, like she had been in a fever.

“God help me,” she had breathed over his lips. “But I will burn.”

“Not alone,” he had assured her.

“You bastard,” she had gasped. “Goddamn gorgeous bastard.”

He had had enough of those insults that were as tantalizing as the nails on his skin, and told her that she was most certainly not a saint, but more like a damned succubus, and then they had both lost the sense of time, as well as that of gallantry and good manners.

He had truly intended nothing more than to surprise her with a gift of wine and an honest admission of spying on her. Not that he regretted how the afternoon had turned out. Hungers and thirsts of that sort could be slaked easily and often, he thought dozily. Still, there was a difference between a quick bite eaten on horseback and a marvellous feast one would remember for a while.

Now, as he lay in the rapidly cooling shadows, his thoughts kept meandering to that first kiss, of all things. He realised that the last such kiss he had received has been a few years ago, before the world went to hell once again with the fall of Montereggioni. He had admired Caterina enormously. Now that memory felt scuffed and damaged both by what came later, and by Caterina’s supposedly honest admission that the affair had been a calculated setup.

Ezio could hardly blame the Tigress of Forlì. Her path had been harsher than most other people. Still, it stung, he had to admit, that on his most recent visit to Florence he had been flatly told she was in retreat at Le Murate. But what had he expected, anyway?

Surprised at his own self-pity, he was relieved to see Lucia slowly raise her head, blinking into the gathering twilight. She looked at him, cleared her throat and pointed over his chest to a jug of water next to the bed. Having finished drinking, she passed it back to him.

Ezio wiped a few stray drops of water from her chin and lower lip. In response, her leg slipped over his under the covers, sliding gently along his thigh.

Ezio shook his head.

“You overestimate me, _madonna_ ,” he sighed. “I was about to suggest refreshments.”

Lucia groaned, lazily sitting up.

“There may be something downstairs,” she said apologetically. “But nothing that -”

She stopped talking as Ezio swung himself out of bed and started putting on his clothes.

“I was brought up better than to show up empty-handed,” he explained. “It was a mere oversight on my part.”

When he had come back in, using the window once more, he held up the basket he had secreted under the pigeon coop. Lucia’s expression made him burst out laughing.

“My goodness. What have you got in there?” she asked.

“Not much,” he said, pulling out a bottle of wine. “It’s too early in the year for fresh fruit. Do you think you could make do with dry figs and a jar of honey?”

“If they are too dry, we can always dip them in wine,” Lucia agreed.

She had not moved from the bed. Ezio put the small hamper between them and joined her.

“A wise suggestion,” he agreed. “Do you have any ideas for the honey?”

Smiling over her cup of wine, Lucia nodded.


	6. Largo al Factotum

One thing could be said about the peaked hoods that assassins wore: they were excellent at keeping the dust of the road off one’s face and hair. Ezio was quite grateful for this as he finally reached the wide and dusty road leading back to Rome.

He had been riding almost without stopping for two days. The first inn on the way from Cassino was better suited to his horse then to him. The only other time he had managed to stretch a little was in the lower foothills, where a small group of local lads had decided to attempt some rather unprofessional banditry. Ezio had dismounted more for the pleasure of stretching his legs than anything else. It would have been truly unfair to draw weapons against a bunch of smooth-chinned village boys. One fistfight later, he left them groaning in the middle of the road and galloped off.

Despite the long ride, the quick visit to Cassino had been worth it. The French were drawing near the lands of the King of Naples, and Ezio had received a panicked letter asking for his advice, in person if at all possible. If the brothers in the Cassino region had asked for him in person, killing was probably involved. However, once he had got to the small town under the old abbey, things had turned out a lot better. Two calm conversations, a suggested blackmail and one carefully worded threat later, the matters were settled without a single blade being drawn. He hoped the lesson would stick.

His horse was growing exhausted. Ezio eyed the two bulging sacks hanging off the saddle and shook his head yet again.

The newly established Italian bureaus were forever asking him about rules and regulations. Ezio must have wasted a small lake of ink explaining that the Brotherhood was not a monastic order with a charism and a set rule. For the past few hours, however, he had been wondering if grandmothers should be banned from interfering in Brotherhood dealings.

Who would have guessed that Alberto of Cassino, a competent young man in his twenties, would have such a harridan of a grandmother? Ezio was not sure if the wizened old woman knew what her grandson was up to. In the end, it did not matter. There was no stopping the worthy _nonna_ when she heard that the very fine visitor was going back to Rome. Moving with frightful speed and purpose, the old woman had explained at length that she had been to Rome on more than one pilgrimage. They were all shills and bandits, the Roman merchants, and the food was terrible and overpriced. Besides, those river valley people had terrible taste, and she would not let her guest leave without a little something for the road, and maybe a little extra to show those Romans what real food from real people looked like.

Ezio allowed the horse to slow down and moved to let a cart pass him. Alberto’s _nonna_ had loaded him with enough food to feed most of the hideout for a few days, he felt. Still, the package included several bottles of very good wine. It would be a pity to have them break so close to home.

Another cart passed him. The sun was climbing and the white dust shimmered in the heat. As the cloud of dust settled, Ezio noticed a small figure in monk’s robes walking along the road, aided by a walking stick. He smiled sadly. Two carts had rolled past him, and neither had thought to offer the elderly friar a ride.

The plain brown robes and the three-knot belt confirmed that it was indeed a Franciscan Little Brother, and he was making full use of the walking stick. Grumbling respectfully about the generosity of old women, Ezio shifted the two bags of food to the front of his saddle.

“It’s not much of a seat, but could I offer you a ride, father?” he called out. The friar stopped and smiled.

“You know, _cavaliere_ , I am sorely tempted to accept,” he called back jovially.

The crude walking stick was discarded. Ezio helped the elderly friar onto the horse.

“Thank you. The days are growing hot already,” the friar said, his slight frame settled quite comfortably behind Ezio. “I’ll try not to repay your kindness with too much talk.”

Ezio laughed.

“As long as you don’t try to draw me into theology, it should be fine. Besides, it’s not too far to Rome now. Where are you headed?”

The friar named a small chapter house. Ezio knew the place. In fact, it was reasonably close to Lucia Fabbri’s house. He decided to keep his mouth shut.

The friar, however, had no such intention.

“Two of us on a horse, we look like a pair of Templars,” he said.

Ezio looked over his shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

“That used to be the seal of the Templar order,” the friar said. “Two knights to a horse, to show their dedication to poverty.”

“Ah, yes,” Ezio said dryly. “Some dedication.”

The friar sighed.

“Men are fallible. It is a good thing that order was dissolved. Swords and banks are not good weapons for soldiers of Christ.”

Thankful for the hood once more, Ezio rolled his eyes.

“Agreed,” he said weakly. “Your founder, St. Francis, had a much better approach, fra – “

He realised he had never asked the man’s name.

“Fra Domenico,” the old friar supplied helpfully.

Ezio had to laugh, and introduced himself in turn.

“I think I know one of your flock, father,” he said, chuckling. “A painter by name of Lucia Fabbri.”

He heard Fra Domenico’s small, happy gasp of surprise.

“You do? How so?”

Some careful phrasing would be good here, Ezio concluded.

“My family has commissioned a few works from her,” he said.

“Oh, I am glad to hear that. That poor woman deserves it,” Fra Domenico said.

“Is that so?”

“I despair of her, truly,” Fra Domenico went on. “Widowed, childless, and all alone. I’ve heard her call herself barren in all but painting, but at least she remains thankful for that gift.”

“Very religious, is she?” Ezio asked timidly.

Fra Domenico groaned.

“The last time she showed up for a sermon, she sat with her head bowed all the while. I was getting worried. Then, at the end, as I came by to talk to her, she handed me a piece of paper covered with little sketches, mostly of me, and a very unflattering portrait of one of the ladies in the crowd.”

“I’ve seen her work,” Ezio laughed. “What sort of penance does that require?”

“Oh, none! I’ve come to realise that’s how she prays. I only wish she would get married again. I’d worry a lot less.”

“She has a lot to recommend her,” Ezio muttered.

They had reached the city, and immediately ended up stuck in a crowd. Ezio looked down the street. A pile of masonry had fallen, either from a building or from an overturned cart, effectively cutting off the shortcut he had meant to take.

“Fra Domenico, your luck is holding up,” Ezio said to his passenger. “I might as well turn around and take a gate closer to your chapterhouse. Hold on firmly, though.”

One quick dash around the walls and back via a different path, Ezio brought the horse to a halt in front of a small building.

“Here we are, father,” he said. As he helped the old man off the horse, he glanced down the street, then up at the rooftops. He had been right. Someone had been following them for the last few minutes.

Fra Domenico was thanking him profusely. Ezio glanced at the two sacks of food again. He took one of them off the saddle. No bottles jiggled. He had picked the right one.

“Here,” he said, offering it to the friar. “I try not to carry much money when I travel. But consider this a donation for the poor and the orphaned.”

“Well, _messer_ Auditore, you truly are a kind man,” Fra Domenico nodded. “Go with god, and pray for me.”

Ezio watched the door shut behind the old friar.

“I don’t do that for anyone anymore,” he muttered.

He led the horse to the first secluded corner, then looked up and whistled. As expected, the ever-quiet Renato dropped onto the ground next to him.

“I did not expect a welcoming party to tail me,” Ezio growled. “Still, well done.”

The young man nodded.

“Cassino?” Renato said timidly.

Ezio had to remember who he was talking to. The word most likely stood in for ‘how was the matter in Cassino and have you just arrived, Mentor’. Renato made very few words do a lot of work.

“All done, and done well,” Ezio confirmed. “But since you got it into your head to follow me about, you can take this back to the den.”

He shoved the other sack of food into Renato’s arms.

“Be careful. There are several bottles in there. And share it around, of course.”

Renato shrugged.

“Not many at the den,” he said.

Ezio felt relieved. He might have some rest after all. Renato was perfect company for someone who wanted peace and quiet.

“I’ll be along shortly,” he said to Renato. No pats on the shoulder, he reminded himself. The lad hated that.

Renato nodded, and gave a ghost of a smile.

“Hot water?” he muttered. That, presumably, meant that some hot water for a bath may be arranged.

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Ezio said and got back on the horse. “Just leave it there for me.”

With Renato gone, Ezio rode slowly down the street. Lucia’s door was open. Wearing a thick smock and her head wrapped in an old scarf, she was cleaning in that preferred Roman method, by sweeping all the dust from the house right onto the street. As Ezio pulled up by her door, she looked up. Putting the broom aside, she eyed both him and the horse.

“That poor beast looks half-dead, _messere_ ,” she said, patting the sweaty neck of the horse. “And you do not look much better. A long ride?”

Ezio explained he had just ridden in, taking care not to mention his previous passenger.

“Would you like to come in for a drink, then?” Lucia offered.

“I think the horse needs it more than I do,” Ezio said. “And after two days in the saddle, I am not fit for human company, either.”

Lucia motioned to her dusty smock.

“Neither am I, to be honest. We match.”

Ezio thought back on the almost-empty hideout and the promised hot water. He shifted in the saddle, making room in the front.

“In that case,” he suggested, “Why don’t you join me?”

***

The hideout was mostly empty. Renato had placed all the food neatly on a large table in what passed for a communal dining room. Ezio tried to put some sort of meal together, not forgetting to swipe the olive oil and one of the bottles of the Cesanese wine. That would do for a start, he decided.

Lucia was looking around with mild curiosity, but started when she heard footsteps. Fiametta appeared from around a corner.

“Mentore, welcome back!” she called out.

Ezio pointed to a laden table.

“Help yourself, Fiametta. Oh, and allow me to introduce _signora_ Lucia Fabbri. She is a painter.”

Fiametta’s eyes lit up.

“A painter! That must be wonderful. I can barely write my own name,” she added shyly.

“I remember you,” Lucia said. “And I cannot dance like you do, _signorina_.”

The friendly chattering gave Ezio the time he needed for other preparations, including hauling the large pots of water to what he thought of as his room. He did not need a set of chambers all by himself. The rooftops were more than enough for solitude. However, in the winter and otherwise inclement weather, it was good to hole up within the hideout itself, but away from the general chatter. He did allow himself the luxury of a decent bed, a sturdy desk and a proper bathtub. Rome was so filthy compared to Florence and Montereggioni.

He got rid of his armour and weapons, wincing all the while, and went back to fetch Lucia. She eyed his room with that same quiet curiosity.

“What is behind the curtain?” she asked.

Ezio pulled the cloth back with a flourish, revealing the steaming tub. Lucia nodded appreciatively.

“You first, _cavaliere_ ,” she laughed.

Ezio tut-tutted.

“But there’s enough room for two.”

There was indeed enough room for two. They both sighed happily in the warm water, Ezio leaning back against the wooden tub, Lucia cradled against his chest. They grabbed a few bites from the platter he had left nearby. After a while, Ezio found that keeping still was a complete waste. He wrapped his arms over Lucia and let his hands roam over her, gliding in the warm water.

Lucia sighed, then twisted around to face him. Ezio tried to sit up. The movement in close quarters made him wince again. Lucia eyed him critically.

“Two days on horseback feels like a week,” Ezio groaned.

Lucia stood up. Despite the discomfort, Ezio enjoyed the candlelit view as she stepped out of the bath.

“I think you would be more comfortable in bed,” Lucia said as she dried herself off.

“Is that an order?”

“Merely a suggestion.”

Ezio complied, stretching himself on his side. Lucia, still wrapped in a towel, gave him another critical look.

“On your front, I mean,” she said.

“What good will that do?”, he purred, rolling over onto his stomach. The next moment, he felt pressure as she sat down on him, taking care to spare his lower back.

“This,” Lucia said. Head snugly pressed into the pillows, Ezio heard her reach for something. The next moment he smelled olive oil. Her hands, slippery and warm, landed on his back, kneading and pressing. He pressed his teeth together as each knot and tight cluster of muscles came under attack of persistent, skilful fingers. At first, his back and shoulders felt like they were on fire. The pain eased, changing into a soothing warmth. Lucia managed to somehow find each spot and give it its due attention, grunting softly when she hit a particularly stubborn muscle.

“You are very good at this,” Ezio muttered into the pillow.

“A good knowledge of anatomy, that is all,” came the modest reply. “You cannot draw a body properly unless you understand how it fits together.”

Ezio thought back to the neat pile of cadavers in what used to be Leo’s studio in Florence.

“Inside and out?” he asked, then sighed softly as he felt his arms tingling with renewed blood flow.

“I’m not in the habit of painting innards,” Lucia snorted. “And in the last few years of war, I’ve seen enough of them. I have no desire to see more. But this…” Her grip grew stronger for a moment, then softened again. “This is worth looking at.”

The warmth was all-enveloping now. Ezio blinked.

“Lucia,” he muttered. “Please, stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I will fall asleep otherwise,” he explained. “And that would be unforgivably wasteful.”

Once she had moved, Ezio pulled her onto the pillows, unwinding the towel around her. His hands wondered down to her breasts. They felt perfectly round and firm, and he dedicated himself with great gusto, a squeeze here and a flick of the tongue there, all but purring.

He stopped when, instead of the deep, rasping sighs he had been enjoying, he heard a short laugh, almost a snigger. He looked up at Lucia quizzically.

“You must miss your wet nurse a lot,” she commented, playing with his hair.

Ezio stared at her for a moment.

“Fine, then,” he said in a hurt voice, moving away. “I will desist.”

“I was only –“

“ _Sami'na wa_ _atho'na_ ,” he said, slithering away almost to the edge of the bed.

“What?”

“I hear and obey,” Ezio translated from Arabic. He slipped off the edge of the bed. Before Lucia could sit up, he grabbed at her legs, pulling them towards him. “I’ll direct my efforts elsewhere.”

Now there was no snapping response as he lowered his face between her thighs. He moved slowly, barely touching her flesh, one feathery touch at the time. He felt her quivering in his grip and very lightly ran his thumb over the folds between her legs, following with his lips.

“I can’t wait,” he whispered against the inside of her thigh. Lucia twisted, squealing, so he tightened his grip. Another light touch, another quick movement of his tongue and lips, and Ezio smiled, hearing a frustrated cry.

“As I was saying,” One more movement, even lighter. “I wonder what insults this will bring.” And he repeated the sequence of his motions, taking longer this time. Lucia’s teeth were chattering. Her hands grabbed for his hair, but he gently swatted them out of the way, fully concentrated on keeping his motions as agonisingly slow as he could.

“I’ll beg, you bastard,” he heard at last. “I’ll beg.”

Now he made his way back up onto the bed to lean over her flushed face.

“No need to beg,” he explained calmly. Nails sank into his upper arms. Slowly and patiently, he pulled Lucia’s hands away. “I’m used to everyone in this damned city coming to ask for something. So, what do you want?”

Lucia grabbed his face with both hands, twisting under him. She spoke through clenched teeth.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said earnestly.

“What a delicate siren’s call,” Ezio replied, feigning surprise.

“Fine, then, you lout,” she almost yelled, trying to twist away. Ezio pressed her hands into the pillows behind her.

“I was trying to be gallant,” he grinned.

“Fuck your Florentine gallantry,” was the only response.

“You had to say that,” he said with pretended hurt in his voice. Shifting his grip on her hands, he pressed his other hand into her thigh, stopping the twisting and scrambling. “Fine, then, if it’s a matter of reputation.” His back was feeling a great deal better anyway.

In a moment or two he was sweating. His hand slipped from Lucia’s and grabbed at her hair instead. She was clawing at his chest, head tossing this way and that until he grabbed her chin.

“Did you mean like this?” Ezio asked.

She nodded, eyes closed.

“Yes,” she whispered. “And worse.”

He let her grip at his hair, at his shoulders, tossing like a fish on a hook, and pulled on her thighs as though pulling on the reigns of a misbehaving horse. His hair, half undone now, fell over their faces. Two days in the saddle, he thought, and much the same movement, but this one felt incomparably more satisfying. Foreheads pressed together, they breathed in each other’s gasps, until Lucia arched her back, unseeing eyes staring up.

“Merciful god,” she cried out. “That’s – that’s –“

That strangled cry was the most satisfying of all, and Ezio held her even more firmly, calling her a beautiful demon, and a lowlands siren, and all else he could think of, until he could not speak either.

When at length he lay back, Lucia moved over lazily, draping herself over him, head on his shoulder. Her unruly hair spread over his chest.

“I am so very glad I invited you to join me,” Ezio murmured.

“I am glad I accepted,” she replied.

Ezio pulled the covers over both of them, settling down with a contented sigh. Lucia’s hand, finally still, lay over his shoulder. He stroked her hair, listening to her even breathing, and drifted off to sleep.

***

Light woke him up. A point of candlelight danced at the edge of his vision. There was no certain way to tell the time inside this underground chamber. Judging by the lack of sounds outside, it was late at night. Lucia, wrapped in a bedsheet as though it were a cloak, was lighting a candle off the dying embers in the small brazier.

She walked over to his desk, looking around. Ezio watched her, not moving. He almost sighed with relief when she reached for the carafe of water and poured herself a drink. As she replaced the cup, her glance fell on the large sheets of paper he had left all over the desk.

The papers would not be secret, or important. Such things were locked away somewhere far harder to reach. Still not making a sound, Ezio watched Lucia as she peered intently at the papers. She turned her head this way and that, frowning and tapping her fingers on the pages.

It was time to put his doubts to rest, Ezio decided. He cleared his throat.

“You’re awake,” he said.

She did not startle or gasp like someone caught snooping. Instead, she smiled and nodded.

“Forgive me. Curiosity got the better of me,” Lucia said simply. “I’m afraid these are not very good,” she added, pointing to the drawings on his desk.

Now Ezio remembered what the papers were.

“No, they are not,” he sighed, getting up. “They are second-rate at best,” he grumbled, pulling his pants on.

Lucia was still peering at the drawings of the various attack techniques copied from the Codex.

“The friend I commissioned to do those drawings ran off to a more lucrative offer,” Ezio went on. “Besides, he tends to get so lost in details and anatomical studies that the rest of the drawing just falls by the wayside. These were made by someone else.”

Lucia picked up one of the drawings.

“These were not drawn from life,” she stated.

“How can you tell?”

“These are copies of another drawing, aren’t they? They are a copy of a copy. That is why they are not quite right.”

“They are,” he confirmed, joining her. “But the originals are quite fragile and, frankly, not for everyone’s eyes. That is why I wanted copies.”

Lucia put the paper down.

“There’s no need for the originals,” she said. “All that is needed is a model with the right posture.”

Ezio looked at her, chin in one hand.

“Could you draw it?” he asked.

Lucia thought for a moment.

“I think so,” she said. “I would need a model who is familiar with such stances.”

“You could use me,” Ezio suggested.

Lucia shook her head.

“Sit and stare at you, half undressed, in the same room, for hours? I doubt I would get much drawing done.”

He had to smile.

“If I found another model, would you consider it? An honest commission, for a fair price.”

Lucia nodded.

“Agreed,” she said. “Just send me someone who is familiar with these poses.”

She glanced around the room.

“Speaking of hours, what is the time?”

Ezio listened carefully once again. No bells sounded, and steps on the street above were far and few between.

“Too late to sleep, too early to rise,” he guessed. “Were you planning on going somewhere?”

She shook her head. Ezio tugged gently at her makeshift cloak, pulling her closer.

“Then come back to bed.”

And again, she agreed.


	7. Interlude 2.0

**_THE_GRAND_RESTORER_ ** _has joined the chat_

**_HEART-OF-IRON_ ** _has joined the chat_

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: How have you been?

HEART-OF-IRON: Busy, as you can see

HEART-OF-IRON: Did you get that report I sent you?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Yes. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.

HEART-OF-IRON: Something wrong with it?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Not at all. It’s just that you’re doing something exhausting, and perhaps dangerous, and gender-bending at the same time, as it were.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I wanted to make sure you were ok.

HEART-OF-IRON: It’s very hard to phrase some things

HEART-OF-IRON: And it’s not like we happened upon an episode full of major historical events and facts

HEART-OF-IRON: Hardly a major discovery, but I guess it fills a few gaps

**Black_Feather** _has joined the chat_.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: And yet, what an episode.

HEART-OF-IRON: I don’t think I can write that up concisely

BLACK_FEATHER: she’s fine, I’m keeping an eye on her

BLACK_FEATHER: you can trust me

HEART-OF-IRON: It’s true, b-feather barely lets me go to bathroom by myself

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Don’t overdo it. It’s not worth giving yourself brain damage over my idle curiosity.

HEART-OF-IRON: We still haven’t found your painting and I’m not leaving until i’ve found it :-)

BLACK_FEATHER: no stopping now, she’s hooked

HEART-OF-IRON: In fact I’m gonna go back to it in a few

**HEART-OF-IRON** _has left the chat._

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Promise me you will be – oh well.

BLACK_FEATHER: are we having fun yet

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Is she really all right?

BLACK_FEATHER: y e s s h e i s

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I was trying to help, not send her into a different tailspin.

BLACK_FEATHER: you know what I think?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I’m sure you’ll tell me.

BLACK_FEATHER: i think you’re loving every moment that brings Heart online and keeps her here

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I’m not going to answer that.

BLACK_FEATHER: TG, how long have we known each other?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Long enough that I know I don’t have to answer your poking and prodding.

BLACK_FEATHER: let me ask you something

BLACK_FEATHER: are you really that desperate to be someone’s rebound

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I’m not ‘desperate’

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: But I understand your concern. It’s fine, Feather.

BLACK_FEATHER: then don’t worry so much ok?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: OK.

**BLACK_FEATHER** _has left the chat._

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I’d rather be her rebound than the love of someone else’s life.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: “he typed into the deaf void”

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: -purge channel

Closing Helix client 3.1…

NO CONNECTION


	8. To My Youth

The quietly patient Renato turned out to be the perfect model for Lucia. The young man had very good form, as well as the ability to wait quietly for hours on end. Ezio was therefore quite surprised to see Renato coming back from one of the drawing sessions far earlier than expected.

The young man marched straight up to Ezio, handing him a folded piece of paper.

“She wants to see you,” he said.

“ _Signora_ Fabbri?”

Renato nodded.

“Why did she not come with you, then?”

Renato shrugged. Ezio frowned at the brief note. Apparently, he was to meet Lucia at a small church nearby.

“Is she alright? Is something wrong?”

Another shrug was all he got from Renato, but that probably meant that nothing was amiss. Shaking his head in confusion, Ezio grabbed his sword and headed out.

The appointed meeting place looked peaceful enough. Ezio looked over the area. The crumbling villa next to the church had fallen into worse disrepair since he had last passed by. The church itself was quiet, the street half empty.

Lucia was already there, arms crossed and face like thunder. She glared at him as he approached and walked into the church. It was empty except for a lone nun sweeping before the altar.

Ezio followed Lucia into a quiet corner.

“What the hell do you and that wizened brown sack of bones think you are doing?” she hissed, hands clenched into fists.

“I don’t under –“

“What the fuck have you said to that friar?” Lucia went on, voice rising. “And what business do you have talking to my confessor anyway, you ass?”

Ezio could only gape at her.

“What friar?” he managed to say.

“What do you mean, what friar?” Lucia yelled. “What business do you two asses have talking behind my back?”

Ezio glanced around the church. To his mild despair, he saw the flustered nun rushing towards them.

“For shame,” the nun called out. “This is a house of –“

Lucia barely glanced over her shoulder.

“Oh, fuck off!” she snapped.

While the shocked nun busily crossed herself, Ezio grabbed Lucia’s arm and dragged her outside. The old villa next door was empty except for a dog drinking from the once ornamental pond in the yard. Ezio marched Lucia into the derelict garden.

“What are you talking about? What friar?” he managed to say in between two bouts of angry curses.

“Fra Domenico, of course!” Lucia yelled. The stray dog, startled, dashed off. “What did you say to him? Why did you talk to him in the first place?”

“I only –“

That was as far as he got before the storm continued unabated.

“He comes to me after the service to talk yet again about the blessed state of marriage, and then he mentions ‘that nice _cavalier_ Auditore, for example’! How dare you!”

Ezio rolled his eyes, motioning helplessly against the barrage of shouts and waving hands.

“What the fuck do you two think I am? Some sort of parcel to be passed around? From my parents’ house to my uncle’s, from uncle to husband, and so on? What else did you – “

Ezio sighed and finally came to a decision. He gave Lucia a push just strong enough to send her splashing into the shallow pond. He waited for the splashes to die down. When she had sat up in the water, he knelt next to the pond.

“Are you now cooled off enough to let me say something?” Ezio asked politely. “I happened to give your Fra Domenico a ride into Rome when I was coming back from Cassino. That was all.”

Still sitting in the water, Lucia grimaced.

“But what the hell did you tell him?” she asked weakly.

“Only that I knew who you were, and that we commissioned work from you,” Ezio spread his arms helplessly. “He must have taken a liking to me and decided that was enough for a matchmaking story in his own head.”

Lucia’s hands fell into her lap.

“Don’t you believe me?” Ezio asked.

“I do,” she said quietly.

“Had I known he was such a busybody, I would have ridden past him,” Ezio laughed, helping Lucia out of the pond. She stared at the ground, slowly picking the dead leaves off her sleeves.

Ezio looked at her sodden dress.

“You can’t walk back through streets like that,” he said.

“I’ll dry off,” she said quietly, still not looking at him.

“There is another way to get you home,” he offered. “Come along.”

***

One of the entrances to the network of old tunnels and ancient sewers was close by, luckily. Holding a lantern, Ezio walked quietly besides Lucia. She had not spoken a word yet.

“Forgive me, Ezio,” she said at last.

“Nothing to forgive,” he said. “I’ve heard many women utter the same complaints. Sadly, they are almost always right to make them.”

“But mine were aimed at the wrong man,” Lucia added sadly.

“No harm done,” Ezio assured her. Remembering the fiery, one-sided argument, he could not help but laugh.

“I am sorry,” he said in between chuckles. “But the look on that poor nun’s face! I hope Fra Domenico does not try to send you to a convent.”

Lucia chuckled too, but not very happily.

“You can imagine that he’s tried to suggest it.”

Her sigh echoed in the empty tunnel.

“What a feast of choices I have. Either a lifetime of keeping my mouth shut before a Mother Superior or before a husband and his family.”

They had reached a tight turn in one of the tunnels. The short staircase leading from it had partially crumbled.

“This earth could not hold you, _maestra_ ,” Ezio said earnestly. “And I for one would not even try.”

“I do not want you to think I would make a good wife,” Lucia muttered, tottering over the rubble in the narrow corridor. She lost her footing and swore, sliding down the last few feet. She grabbed a rusted grille for support just as Ezio caught her.

Finally, she looked up at him, one hand on the rusted gate behind her, the other on his shoulder.

“I far more enjoy this life as your -“

Ezio lifted a warning hand.

“Watch what you’re going to say next,” he admonished.

“I should think that you of all people would not think the word ‘whore’ is an insult,” Lucia laughed.

“Not at all,” Ezio agreed. “But it is the wrong word, nonetheless. Firstly,” he counted, putting a finger on her lips, “I am only paying for the drawings, as agreed.”

Lucia’s teeth closed gently over his finger.

“And secondly, as someone who’s met many of those hard-working women,” Ezio continued, “I’ve rarely met one as eager to work as you.”

There was no response other than Lucia’s lips roaming over his palm. Without much thought, he leaned over her, pressing her back against the iron bars, and kissed her.

In a fleeting moment, he could see the scene as though he were looking on from far away: two figures pressed against each other in a secluded corner, moving furtively and quietly as though they could be caught, as though the old tunnels were not dusty, quiet and utterly deserted. The rustling of the cloth in the shadows made him recall a different time. Those had been the years when he had sought out shaded gateways and forgotten corners for business far more pleasant than killing, and when the only ones he was hiding from had been watchful mothers and nosy neighbours.

Those days had no business appearing to him there, in the silent, dark corridors under Rome. Instead of the still-warm fine stonework of Florence, he felt the rough, crumbling rock. Instead of scented cover of creeping jasmine, there were the rusting old gates. He felt almost painfully insulted.

And yet, a part of the memories made its way to the present in the hasty kisses and the desperately twisting bodies. Feeling very foolish, but unable to resist, he kissed Lucia deeply.

Comfortable beds and secluded chambers were not that hard to find anymore. Yet for the moment, they both enjoyed the desperate, quick motions, hands reaching for the very few patches of bare skin they could find. There was a trick to it, Ezio remembered, almost furtively reaching under Lucia’s skirts. He felt more than heard her gasps and quiet, delighted moans as he pressed his lips to her throat.

Lucia’s hands scrambled for his belt. It was almost ridiculous, the two pairs of hands rummaging desperately through folds of cloth for whatever they could reach. To his surprise, Ezio almost cried out in delight as Lucia’s hands found their way between his legs, tugging gently, but very insistently. He swore through his teeth, and that only served to encourage her further.

Not that his own fingers were sitting idle, but Ezio suddenly felt terribly impatient.

“Let go,” he growled in Lucia’s ear.

“You too,” she panted back.

As Ezio let go of her, she sank to her knees. He was sure he heard a chuckle before she ran her tongue over her lips and started paying him back for the little game of a few nights ago. Now he was the one clutching at the rusted iron and hissing through his teeth. When she stopped for a moment, Ezio reached down for her face.

“Stand up,” he pleaded.

“Not done,” she whispered back.

He pulled her up to face him and almost slammed her into the wall. Lucia’s hands wrapped around the iron bars behind her. He lifted her up, a leg in each arm.

“I’m not done either, _la demonia_ ,” he murmured. “It’s your turn.”

As he leaned into her, thrust after thrust, he felt her palm on his neck, nails sinking in again, making him growl and threaten some more. Her hand was tugging at his hair again, and Ezio gladly responded to every painful tug with either a bite or a swing of his hips. Lucia’s howls grew louder.

“Don’t bite my tongue off, _demonia_ ,” Ezio growled in Lucia’s ear before kissing her.

Even if someone had been nearby to hear them, it was too late now, in that moaning tangle of intertwined limbs and tongues. And what would they do, anyway, Ezio thought, breaking the kiss only to gasp for air.

Grabbing onto his shoulders, Lucia went rigid, sobbing out his name in between curses and grunts. That was the last straw, and Ezio caught himself swearing helplessly as he ground his hips against hers, stopping only when he felt he was about to collapse.

As he let Lucia down gently, her knees almost gave way. She clutched onto his shoulders, trying to catch her breath.

“There tunnels,” she panted. “Are dangerous.”

Ezio nodded against her hair.

“If I remember the way,” Ezio said whispered. “It’s mostly free of twists and turns from here on.”

Lucia blinked at him.

“That’s good?” she asked.

“I think so,” he explained. “Otherwise, at this rate, we shall never get you home.”

***

Some days after the incident at the pond, Ezio was making his way towards Lucia’s house, deep in thought. La Volpe had been gone from Rome for a few weeks. It was during this time that one of the master thief’s lieutenants had called for Ezio’s help. The man had been almost panicked, yet all he needed was to have a stash of letters retrieved from a well-guarded house in Rome. It was the well-guarded part that had made him think of Ezio, the lieutenant had explained. The influential man who currently possessed these letters was only stopping in Rome briefly, and the time to get job done was consequently short.

There had certainly been a little flattery involved, but Ezio could not refuse the request. La Volpe’s man, Giacomo, had been adamant that killing should be avoided at all costs, as it would attract undue attention. All in all, it seemed like a perfect piece of work for some of the younger recruits, possibly the limber Fiametta and the quiet Renato. Lucia would have to do without her model for a few days.

He found Lucia on her balcony, engrossed in a painting. The street was busy, so he settled for calling out from below. She waved and he came in, for once using the door.

A little regretfully, Ezio refused the drink she offered him.

“Unfortunately, I am here strictly on business,” he explained. “Renato will not be available for a few days.”

Lucia shrugged.

“What about that charming young lady, Fiametta?”

Ezio shook his head.

“Not her either.”

“Very well. In any case, since you are here, let me show you what has been done so far.”

While Lucia rustled among the large sheets of paper on the crowded table, Ezio peeked out onto the balcony. The painting she had been working on was still in very early stages, reddish marks of underpainting over the primed wood.

It was a portrait, and the face in it looked familiar. Ezio took a closer look, then frowned. There was a reason the face looked so familiar. He had seen it many times in the mirror.

“Did Claudia commission this?” he asked dryly.

“Commission what?” Lucia asked back. “I haven’t arranged for any work from her recently.”

“Then why are you painting this thing?” Ezio asked, stepping into the room.

Arms full of thick sheets of paper, Lucia looked from his pointing finger to the balcony.

“Sometimes I paint for my own pleasure,” she quipped.

“And you could not find anything better to paint than me?” Ezio complained.

Lucia arched an eyebrow.

“You are not paying for this one, so you don’t get a say,” she replied. “These, however, you are paying for.”

Ezio examined the completed drawings.

“These will be fine,” he said. “In fact, could you make another set? We’ll adjust the price, of course.”

“Certainly,” Lucia said, handing him the rolled-up sheets. “You can take these with you.”

Ezio bowed.

“I wish I could stay longer,” he said regretfully. “But in the meantime,” he added, pointing to the balcony once again. “Find something better to paint. That does not even look like a cat.”

Lucia sniffed.

“As I’ve said, you do not get to tell me what to paint. Perhaps it was meant as a gift.”

Ezio stopped and look at her with a serious face.

“I can’t think of a portrait the world needs less than that one,” he said. “For that matter, I would prefer one of you.”

Lucia frowned again.

“I detest doing self-portraits,” she grumbled.

“Thank you for these, in any case,” Ezio said. “I hope to be back sooner rather than later to discuss the price,” he offered, touching her chin gently.

“I look forward to it,” Lucia smiled.


	9. Leave the Lost and Dead Behind

Renato and Fiametta had left a few hours ago. Agnesca had joined them, in case they needed a lookout or a runner. The hideout was left blessedly empty. Ezio used the time to quietly work his way through the accumulated letters.

After a while, he stood up and stretched, wishing he had not spent so long sitting down. He had left Lucia’s drawings from the Codex in the common room. Perhaps he could put them up on boards and so excuse himself from sitting back down immediately.

A door slammed somehere. It must have been later than he thought if the three young recruits were already back. It was unusual for them to come back with that much noise. Ezio walked out into the corridor and stopped.

Renato walked in first, Fiametta cradled in his arms. Even in the dim light, Ezio could see the bloodstains all over Renato’s hands and spatters of blood on his short cape. Fiametta’s head rested on the young man’s shoulder.

“Get her to a doctor!” Ezio yelled.

Renato did not even stop walking. Agnesca, looking blessedly free of blood, caught up.

“We have,” Agnesca said quietly.

Ezio saw the expression on her face and only then realised that Fiametta was not moving.

He let the sad procession pass into the common room, and only them allowed himself to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. A quick breath, and a clenching of fists, and he had pulled himself together enough to follow them. He watched as Renato put Fiametta’s body on the table, then sent everything else – a few forgotten cups and trinkets, and Lucia’s drawings – flying onto the floor.

The bleeding had long stopped, Ezio realised as Renato slowly arranged the stiffening limbs. Ezio placed a gentle hand on Agensca’s shoulder.

“What happened?” he said quietly.

Agnesca put a leather case on the table. Next to it she placed a small, sharp hatchet, its handle still covered in blood. Ezio picked it up.

It was a well-crafted and perfectly balanced weapon that must have cost a fair deal. Whoever had thrown it had been an expert, hitting the girl right where the shoulder and neck connected. Poor Fiametta was probably dead by the time they had got to the doctor.

“There were four of them,” Agnesca said quietly. “And they were expecting us.”

Renato sat down on a bench against the wall, still silent.

Ezio looked at the hatchet again. This was not a weapon that a simple hired thug would be able to afford, or, for that matter, use properly. He put it down and flipped open the leather case.

Leaning into the table on his fists, he breathed in deeply once again, pressing down on the wood until his knuckles went white. He did not dare speak again until the wave of rage had passed.

The papers in the leather case were blank.

“Agnesca,” Ezio began softly, turning to his student. “This was –“

He was interrupted by a loud cry, almost a howl, from the other side of the room. Renato covered his face with his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Both Ezio and Agnesca stared for a moment at the wailing figure.

Ezio sat down next to Renato, gently pulling him up. To his surprise, the young man did not flinch. He leaned against Ezio’s shoulder instead, still crying. His face was covered with pinkish smudges where the tears had mixed with the dried blood on his hands.

Ezio let him cry. Agnesca looked on helplessly.

“Tell me,” Ezio mouthed to her, still holding Renato. “Did you kill any of them?”

Agnesca shook her head.

“You said to avoid killing, Mentor. Renato and Fiametta grabbed what they came for and made their way out. Only then did the men attack. It was almost like an ambush.”

Ezio nodded.

“We were almost clear of the place when that axe came out of nowhere,” Agnesca added.

Renato’s sobs finally gave way to words.

“She’s gone,” he howled.

“I know,” Ezio said softly. “I know.”

“You don’t,” Renato cried out, still not opening his eyes. “You’ll take her to the crypt, and put stone over her.”

That was the most words Ezio had heard Renato utter at one time.

“I know. It must – “

“Her face, her face,” Renato wailed on. “I won’t see her face again!”

“Renato, listen –“

“No one will ever see her face again,” the young man continued. “No one, no one...”

As the words gave way to sobs once more, Ezio stood up. He put his hands on Agnesca’s shoulders.

“You have done well, Agnesca,” he said softly. “Now I must ask you to stay here and look after him.”

Agnesca’s eyes widened.

“Are you going back there, Mentor?” she whispered.

“Eventually, yes,” Ezio told her. “But first I’m going to fetch _maestra_ Fabbri.”

***

Ezio shook Lucia awake as gently as he could. Once she realised who he was, she sat up in bed.

“What happened?” she said.

“I can explain on the way,” Ezio told her. “But now, if you can, I need you to take your tools of the trade and come with me. There may not be much time.”

She asked no further questions. Ezio waited as she dressed herself and collected her drawing supplies. As they rode through the dark and empty streets, he felt Lucia’s hand around his waist and her head pressed against his shoulder. She still said nothing and Ezio was silently grateful for the respite.

Once in the hideout, Lucia looked from Renato, now silent and unmoving, to Agnesca next to him, and finally to Fiametta’s body on the large table. She put a hand to her mouth, but never made a sound.

“Do you know what I need you to do?” Ezio asked.

Lucia nodded, putting down the bag that held her supplies. Holding a piece of paper stretched on a light wooden board, she walked over to Agnesca and nodded. Then she knelt in front of Renato.

“Renato,” she called quietly. The young man still stared at the floor.

“Renato, I need you to help me,” Lucia said again.

The young man looked up.

“I need your help,” Lucia repeated.

Renato looked at the paper in Lucia’s hands.

“You need light,” he muttered.

“Exactly,” Lucia confirmed. “Bring me some candles. Bring me light.”

To Ezio’s surprise, Renato went to fetch the candles. Lucia walked over to the table and looked over Fiametta’s pale face.

“Will you permit me?” she asked, reaching for Fiametta’s hands.

Ezio realised the question was not meant for him, but for Agnesca, who approached the table immediately. They gently turned Fiametta’s body until she lay on her side, one hand under her cheek and the folds of the hood covering the wound on her back.

Once Lucia had started drawing, Ezio nodded to Renato and Agnesca.

“I hope to be back soon,” he said.

***

La Volpe’s man, Giacomo, was exactly where Ezio had expected to find him, at the inn where they had initially met. Giacomo, however, had not expected to see Ezio, although he hid his surprise reasonably well. Giving Giacomo his best happy smile, Ezio put the leather folder down in front of the man.

“The job is done,” Ezio said simply. “I hope this is what you needed.”

Giacomo barely glanced at the papers in front of him. Ezio fought down a smirk.

“Impressive,” Giacomo muttered. “How did it go?”

Ezio shrugged expansively.

“Well enough,” he said.

“No deaths?”

“I’m afraid there has been at least one,” Ezio said as lightly as he could. “In any case, you can forget about the whole thing now. No need to bother La Volpe with it.”

Giacomo thanked him rather hurriedly, and Ezio excused himself. He left the inn, found a comfortable hiding place nearby and waited.

He smirked again, but with little humour, as he observed Giacomo leaving the inn in a hurry. Ezio followed at what he considered a leisurely pace, certain he knew which way his quarry was headed. It was not long before Giacomo stopped, almost out of breath, at the very house Ezio had sent his recruits to rob earlier than night.

Once Giacomo was let inside, Ezio made his way around the building to the most convenient window. Crouched underneath it, he listened until he figured he had heard enough. He waited a little longer nonetheless, staring over the roofs towards the Tiber. Once he trusted himself to stand up and walk away, rather than burst in through the window and slaughter the lot of them, starting with the erstwhile Giacomo, he made his way to one of the pigeon coops to send a message. Then he returned to the hideout.

The tableau in the common room had changed somewhat. Renato had fallen asleep where he sat, and Agensca or Lucia must have thrown a woolen cloak over him, leaving him to a fitful sleep.

Candles still burned around the still shape of Fiametta, casting their light on Lucia’s frowning, focused face. Ezio was surprised to hear a murmur. Sitting next to Lucia, Agnesca was praying.

She stumbled on a word, and Lucia picked up the thread, mouthing the words silently as she concentrated once again. She looked up for a moment.

“Join us,” she said.

Ezio sat down.

“In vigil, yes, but in prayer, no,” he muttered. “I have given up on that a long time ago.”

Agnesca looked up now.

“Are they dead?”

Ezio shook his head.

“Not quite yet. They’ve decided to leave Rome soon, though, and they will not get far.”

He sighed, looking at Agnesca.

“It was a trap, as you’ve suspected,” he said sadly. “And it will not be sprung again, I assure you.”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the sound of charcoal sliding over paper. Agnesca closed her eyes.

“Mentor,” she said slowly. “Will you allow Renato and me to help with that?”

The question Ezio had feared had been asked. Lucia put her paper down and quietly walked over to Renato, where she could not hear the conversation.

“I should not,” Ezio said slowly. “But the time is short, and I think I’ve heard enough tonight. Besides, I think I should stay here to deal with the one who commissioned the job in the first place.”

He waited. There was no argument from Agnesca.

“They will be making for Viterbo, from what I heard,” Ezio said. “I’ve let Marcello at Bracciano know to expect two of you. Rest first, and when you do head out, keep an eye on Renato.”

“He will kill them this time,” Agnesca said.

Ezio patted her on the shoulder.

“That would have to be done regardless of what happened tonight. Otherwise, they will be back and another trap will be set. And, with any luck, Renato will realise that it will not bring Fiametta back. Do you understand?”

Agnesca nodded.

Lucia collected her sketches.

“I think I have enough,” she said, putting the sheets of paper away.

They all looked at one another.

Lucia touched Fiametta’s cold, pale cheek.

“ _Madonna_ Agnesca,” she said quietly. “If you need help with what comes next – “

Ezio frowned, then realised what Lucia meant.

“ – I’ve helped before,” Lucia continued. “Mentor, it may be time to leave us to this sad women’s work.”

As Agnesca left to fetch water and cloths, Ezio turned to Lucia.

“You do not have to do this,” he whispered.

“But it must be done,” she said, swallowing hard. “It would be best if you put that poor boy into a proper bed.”

Ezio thought for a moment.

“When you are done here,” he said. “Ask Agnesca to show you the way up to the watchtower.”

***

It was still an hour or two until dawn. Ezio sat down on the lone bench at the top of the watchtower and looked over the city. Apart from a few early risers, the streets still lay eerily quiet. The gentle, chill breeze carried with it the scent of freshly baked bread. Ezio closed his eyes and sat unmoving.

After a while he heard the creaking of the ladder. He opened the trapdoor and helped Lucia up. Her hands were cold as ice.

“Has Agnesca gone to get some rest?” Ezio asked.

“I think so,” Lucia said, sitting down next to him. “As much as that is possible.”

The sky was starting to pale.

“It’s dawning,” Lucia whispered. “I should go home and make most of today, while I remember her face clearly.”

Ezio suddenly felt mortally tired.

“Don’t leave yet,” he said.

“Why do you want me here, of all people?”

“Because I can’t pray, and I can’t cry. Stay with me a little longer.”

He picked up one of the old woolen cloaks that were kept in the tower and put it around Lucia’s shoulders.

They sat in silence for while. Lucia sniffed and wiped her face quickly.

“She could not write her own name properly,” she whispered in a choked voice. “What a goddamn waste.”

“I know,” Ezio said. “And she died in my place.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It was a trap,” Ezio explained.

“But not for your recruits,” Lucia guessed.

“Of course not,” he agreed. “It was meant for me.”

He fought off the urge to put his face in his hands.

“That was the reason for the whole elaborate charade, the need to hurry, the need to do it without killing, and, of course, to do it while more than half of us are away from Rome.”

“Will you be going north with Renato and Agnesca?” Lucia asked.

Ezio shook his head.

“No. I shall stay here and deal with the snake who tricked me.”

Lucia put her hand over his. Cold as her hand was, he took it and held it.

“Is that why you left him alive? To find out who was paying him?”

Ezio smiled mirthlessly.

“That was not the only reason,” he said. “I could not kill him tonight.”

“Why is that?”

Ezio turned to Lucia.

“I would have gutted him like a pig and left his entrails stretched across the street,” he said. “And I was taught better than that.”

“So much waste,” Lucia whispered again.

“I know. I sent that young woman to her death,” Ezio agreed.

To his surprise, Lucia shook her head.

“That is not what I meant,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. “Think of how her life could have been wasted if she had not found you and the others.”

“I don’t understand,” Ezio said.

A rooster crowed in the distance.

“I’m not talking about lives wasted in death,” Lucia explained. “None of us choose how we shall die.”

She sat up, hands folded over her waist, her voice angry rather than sad.

“So many lives are wasted while they still last: women with minds for trade, wasted in households; men with heads for science marched off for those heads to end up at the tip of someone’s pike; girls who could bear and love a dozen children locked up in convents, and apprentices who could be minstrels trapped cobbling shoes.”

Ezio looked at the angry, tired face.

“At least you would try to change it,” Lucia went on. “And I, I would be happiest alone on a mountaintop, sitting aside from this world and watching it from a distance. I have the rage, but not the courage.”

Now she turned to him.

“And you, all of you, you have the courage.”

They both closed their eyes against the first bright rays of sunlight. In the streets below them, the roosters became a noisy chorus.

“Goddamned birds,” Lucia muttered.

Ezio nodded and laughed, blinking in the early sunlight.

“But we’re alive to hear them.”


	10. Interlude 3.0

**_THE_GRAND_RESTORER_ ** _has joined the chat_

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Come on, it’s been thirty minutes.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: -purge

**_HEART-OF-IRON_ ** _has joined the chat_

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Hello there.

HEART-OF-IRON: Hey TG

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: You had me worried.

HEART-OF-IRON: It’s all good

HEART-OF-IRON: This last leg was… heavy.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: You can say that again.

HEART-OF-IRON: Not easy to write up either

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Perhaps you should stop.

HEART-OF-IRON: No, it’s fine, I’ll take a few days break and continue

HEART-OF-IRON: I will say one thing, though

HEART-OF-IRON: Considering what those two got up to, aren’t you glad the DNA sample was just normal hair?

HEART-OF-IRON: **@THE_GRAND_RESTORER** , you still there?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I AM

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Sorry, I laughed so hard I choked.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: My god, I’ve missed your filthy jokes.

HEART-OF-IRON: Me too

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I have a feeling that the way you put it in the report leaves a lot of details out.

HEART-OF-IRON: Hoo boy

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I (also) meant that a lot of emotional weight must be left out.

HEART-OF-IRON: Tell you what TG, so you can stop worrying: let me find the painting and I promise to stop. I think I’m almost there anyway

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I’ll hold you to that.

HEART-OF-IRON: After all, it’s like thinking with someone else’s head, and one you can switch off at will. Let me do it for art history.

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: For art history, then!

HEART-OF-IRON: See you later

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Don’t be too long.


	11. The Sun Will Rise with My Name on Your Lips

The days after Fiametta’s death felt slow, almost peaceful. Renato and Agnesca left for Bracciano. A few days later, a short message arrived from the brother at Bracciano. It said that there had been no need to travel further, that the necessary work had been accomplished and that Renato and Agensca were on their way back. The men who had ambushed them in Rome had not made it even half way to their destination before the Assassins caught up with them.

Ezio spent quiet hours keeping an eye on Giacomo. The turncoat had enough brains to stay in Rome rather than run and raise suspicion. From the conversation Ezio had overheard on the fateful night, Giacomo would be missing out on a very hefty payment anyway and was unlikely to complain too loudly.

Renato and Agnesca returned to the hideout. The young man was no easier to talk to than before, but he no longer stared at the floor sullenly. And then, some days later, Ezio managed to do what he had once thought impossible: he personally surprised La Volpe as the old master thief made his way back to Rome. Once La Volpe was seated in the hideout, Ezio asked Renato to join them. That would be the last part of the lesson.

La Volpe sat with an expressionless face and steepled fingers as Ezio calmly explained what had happened.

“Now that you are back, I suspect Giacomo will try to leave Rome as soon as possible, rather than wait for you to hear about this,” Ezio finished.

La Volpe nodded, looking up at the ceiling.

“And I suspect you have someone watching him as we speak,” he said quietly.

“Of course. But I thought it would be wiser to speak to you first.”

The older man nodded.

“A wise decision to not take him out immediately. I will let you know what information I find out before I end the matter.”

Ezio stood up and patted La Volpe on the shoulder.

“And I’ve forgotten my manners,” he said, pretending to look around for something. Renato was watching him closely.

“Wine, Mentor?” Renato said.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Ezio asked.

When Renato had left the room, La Volpe sighed, the steepled fingers coming apart in a helpless gesture.

“Forgive me, young man,” he said.

Ezio gripped La Volpe’s shoulder again.

“You don’t need to ask. You’ve forgiven me for worse.”

La Volpe was as close to inconsolable as Ezio had ever seen him.

“To have the Borgia buy one of my most trusted men under my very nose.” He looked up. “I’m getting old, Ezio.”

“We all are.”

“Yes, but you’re getting wiser.”

Ezio rolled his eyes.

“One can but hope,” he said. “Before Renato comes back with our drinks – “

La Volpe smirked.

“I was wondering why you had a novice here. Was it to show him how to deal with a doddery old man? Or that even masters can make mistakes?”

Ezio shook his head.

“Not at all, ‘old man’. It was to show him that killing must never be a passionate business.”

La Volpe nodded, steepling his fingers again.

“And also,” Ezio added with a small shrug. “To show him old friends can still have a quiet drink together, regardless of what life throws at us.”

***

Fiametta was put to rest. Lessons had been taught and, Ezio sincerely hoped, well learned. A day or so later, Renato showed up with a package in his hands.

“She says it’s finished,” he stated simply, putting the covered painting on the table.

Everyone in the hideout suddenly crowded around the table. Agnesca slowly lifted the cloth, then stopped in mid motion with a quiet sob. Ezio unveiled the rest of the painting and stepped back.

They all looked silently at the sleeping face of Fiametta, her head resting on her hands, hood slightly askew over the rosy cheeks. A slight smile hovered on her lips, as though the girl in the painting was dreaming of something pleasant. Beyond her, on a barely visible horizon, a group of dark figures was dancing around a bonfire among fallen pillars.

Ezio turned to Renato.

“What do you think?” he asked quietly.

Renato smiled and nodded, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Where should we put it, Mentor?” Agnesca asked.

“You two can decide,” Ezio replied.

***

The streets seemed quieter than usual in the lazy heat of a summer afteroon. Merchants dozed at the shop counters and people without urgent business whiled away the time in whatever shade they could find. Even the horses clattered along slowly, necks drooping in the heat.

The unusual quiet must have been the reason why the two voices carried so well. Ezio heard them from half way down the street.

“I said I would let you know! Now, will you please stop pestering me?”

Ezio picked up the pace. That sounded like Lucia.

“But you know that I speak out of concern for you and your –“

“Yes, my immortal soul. But for now, all I –“

Ezio turned a corner by the small Franciscan chapter house to find what he had expected: a gregarious, smiling fra Domenico in an argument with a growling Lucia. He cleared his throat.

“You might want to know that the entire street is listening by now,” he said with a smirk.

Lucia’s face fell, much to Ezio’s surprise.

“I am sorry,” she said quietly, all fire gone out of her. “Were you looking for me?”

Fra Domenico beamed at Ezio.

“ _Cavaliere_! So good to see you again.”

“I was coming to see _maestra_ about a painting,” Ezio said cautiosly.

“Well, you’d better hurry, then!” the old man chirped. “As it is, there will not be much –“

“Fra Domenico, for the love of god!” Lucia roared.

Ezio pointed a warning finger at the old friar.

“Please, father. That mouth of yours has already landed me in hot water with _maestra_ Fabbri,” he winked.

“Oh. What did I say?“

Lucia held her hands to the side of her head, as though to prevent it from splitting. Ezio put a calming hand on fra Domenico’s shoulder.

“Just let us see to this business matter for now,” he asked politely. He leaned in closer. “And let me lead her away from here before she hits you with something,” he added in a whisper.

That warning had an effect. Fra Domenico mumbled a few words of farewell and retreated. Lucia sighed, shaking her head.

“What did you want to ask me?” she muttered. “We might as well talk here. My house feels like an oven today.”

Ezio looked up and down the sunny street, then at the distraught painter.

“Come down to the river,” he said, taking Lucia’s hand. “We’ll find some shade.”

They made their way through narrow streets to the water. A large fig tree spread its branches over a wall, creating a dappled shade beneath. Ezio lifted his hand and plucked off an few figs before sitting down with Lucia.

“I was coming by to pay you for that portrait of Fiametta,” Ezio explained.

“I did it in a rush,” Lucia muttered.

“It made Renato smile,” Ezio said. “That is more than good enough.”

Lucia took one of the figs.

“I will not accept any money for it, regardless.”

She toyed with the fruit in her hands.

“Then we shall have an argument,” Ezio stated.

“No. It was an honour and a privilege,” Lucia said firmly. “And also... I may not need much money in the time to come.”

Her nails sank into the soft skin of the fruit, revealing the red pulp beneath.

“What did fra Domenico mean by telling me to hurry?” Ezio whispered.

Lucia’s head drooped over the stricken fig.

“I have received a letter from an old friend,” she began. “Vincenzo’s godmother, in fact. I grew to love her dearly during my time in Milan. The war separated us.”

“Bad news?”

“No,” she said quietely. “Or perhaps not all bad. Her husband has died, which was expected and not quite unhoped for.”

Ezio waited.

“Her son is still with the army, and her daughter-in-law is with child,” Lucia went on. “My friend can finally quit Milan and its endless politicking, and she has decided to retreat to the family villa above Assisi.”

“That does not sound at all bad,” Ezio said cautiously.

Lucia pulled out a much-folded letter and shuffled the pages until she found the part she wanted. She handed it to Ezio. He glanced over the strong, confident handwriting and read the first few lines.

“... and since my husband decided to give such a generous bequest to the Church, I promised most of it to the bishop. He can add another wing and a chapel to the abbey hospital and dedicate it to the late fool. It comes with a condition, however: I will be supervising the building and choosing the artworks for the chapel and the grounds.

This is where I thought of you, Cinnetta – “

“Cinnetta?”

Lucia smiled weakly.

“My friend has a habit of nicknaming people in her own way. When I first met her, she started calling me Lucinetta for whatever reason. Over the years, she shortened it.”

Ezio read on.

“This is where I thought of you, Cinnetta. I know that an unforgivably long time has passed, but would you come to Assisi? You can save your soul by painting for my church, and you can save what is left of mine by preventing me from growing into a harridan of a mother-in-law to that poor girl. You can also save my sanity by preserving me from idle chatter with your biting remarks.”

Ezio put the letter down. He looked at the now mangled fig in Lucia’s hand.

“This does not sound terrible at all,” he offered.

Lucia sighed. The leaves of the fig tree rustled above them.

“Was I not the one who complained about being a parcel, and now I am about to accept charity?”

Ezio looked up at the rustling canopy.

“This does not sound like charity to me,” he said, folding the letter. “It sounds like an amazing comission and a chance to help a friend.”

Lucia hurled the fig into the river. Her lip quivered.

“I know,” she said.

“You said you were ready to retreat to a mountain top and paint the world,” Ezio tried again. “And not many people would be able to grant you that wish.”

Lucia looked at him.

“I wish that letter had come a few months ago.”

He did not have an answer to that. The best he could think of was to place the letter between them carefully and put his arms around Lucia instead.

“It is the best thing to do, _demonia_ ,” he said. So was the embrace, he admitted to himself. He would rather not let Lucia see his face.

It was a slim hope, but perhaps an intentionally thoughtless comment would work her into a rage and stave off the tears. “Why would a few months make a difference?” he asked breezily.

To his relief, he heard Lucia chuckling against his chest.

“Because now I will miss you ten times as painfully,” she said. “You bastard.”

“And I you,” Ezio admitted, tightening his hold. It felt safer not to look at her just yet. “When will you leave?”

“I don’t know,” came the whispered reply. “But I imagine we shall want to be settled in the mountains well before the winter sets in.”

“I will not push the matter of payment for Fiametta’s portrait,” Ezio said at last. He lifted Lucia’s head to look into her eyes. “But there I do have one request on which I’ll brook no argument.”

She nodded.

“When you do set out, you will allow Renato to escort you to Assisi,” Ezio said calmly. “I will not sit here wondering whether or not you arrived there safely. Understood?”

Amazingly, there was no argument.

“Understood.”

***

Servants had finished clearing the remains of the dinner from Claudia’s appartment. Ezio and his sister sipped their wine in silence for a while. It had been a delicous meal.

“Claudia,” Ezio said at last. “I need a favour.”

“What is it?”

“Those two rooms on the top floor,” he said, pointing up. “I need them free and undisturbed for a few days around the end of August.”

Claudia frowned.

“I thought we agreed years ago: no killing within the walls of Rosa in Fiore.”

“Who said anything about killing?” Ezio snapped.

Claudia sniggered.

“In that case,” she said. “Discretion is assured, you poor thing.”

“Poor thing?”

“Having to beg me to for –“

Ezio raised a warning finger.

“Can silence be ensured as well?” he growled.

“My, you are in a foul mood,” his sister snorted. “I will say nothing further on the matter.”

“Thank you.”

Claudia refilled their cups.

“Did I tell you Lucia Fabbri’s news?” she said. “Apparently, she will be taking up a commission in Assisi.”

Ezio muttered that he had heard something of the sort.

“I was thinking arranging a dinner or some such before she leaves. I know Niccolò is in Florence, but would you come along?”

“Not really,” Ezio replied, staring into his drink. “Just make sure your little revelry takes place before that last Sunday in August.”

Claudia frowned.

“I really do not see how that has anything to do with –“

She stopped. Ezio looked up. He could almost read the thoughts, questions and answers as Claudia’s expression changed.

Putting her cup down, Claudia walked over to him.

“Oh, Ezio,” she sighed.

“I said silence on the matter would be appreciated,” he muttered.

“You poor thing,” Claudia said again, but without a trace of sarcasm this time. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You will have your rooms, and you will have your silence,” she promised.

***

Once Lucia and fra Domenico had settled on what she should keep and what should go to the poor, the remainder of Lucia’s things was ridiculously easy to pack. She took far longer to pack all the odds and ends and unfinished paintings, giving miserly attention to every last piece of chalk and smudge of pigment.

Ezio was grateful for the distraction as he snuck into the now mostly bare house on a warm evening in late summer. Lucia was so engrossed in her packing and cursing that she may not have heard him anyway. He would have to be careful, he reminded himself. If he gave her too much of a fright and she broke something, no amount of romantic affection would save his hide.

Luck smiled on him, however. Lucia put the lid down on a packed crate and stood up to shake the wood shavings and straw off her dress. Ezio lifted the silken scraf in his hands and slipped it over her eyes, effectively blindfolding her.

“Don’t gut me, _demonia_ , I mean no harm,” he said quickly at the same time.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Surprising you.”

“Why like this?”

Ezio lead her gently out of the house.

“Because this is as mysterious as I could make things on short notice,” he explained, locking the door and slipping the key back into Lucia’s pocket. “You can ascribe it to my romantic Florentine nature.”

Lucia giggled as he helped her onto the horse.

“But where are we going? And when shall I finish my work?”

“Not tonight, I promise you that,” Ezio replied, settling in the saddle with Lucia in his lap. “Now, hold on.”

To his delight, she was still giggling like a young girl as he rode to Rosa in Fiore in the most circuitous way possible. Claudia has been as good as her word: there was no one to be seen or heard in the side corridors that lead to the very exclusive rooms at the top of the building.

Lucia stood in the middle of the room, obediently leaving the blindfold in place. Ezio looked around, feeling almost embarassed. Claudia had apparenly made sure there was abundance of food and drink, including a rare delicacy, a whole bowl of dates floating in honey.

“Where are we?” Lucia whispered.

“Somewhere where no one will bother us for a while, where no one can look in and where no one will pay attention to how much noise we make,” Ezio explained. “And you may take that blindfold off, if you like.”

“I am enjoying the mystery,” Lucia said slowly. “But I suspect we are...”

She felt around and touched the table. Tilting her head to the side, she seemed to sniff the air.

“Are we in Rosa in Fiore?” she asked finally.

Ezio finished divesting hismelf of his cape and weapons. “I said this was the best I could do in a short time,” he said apologetically.

He helped Lucia sit down on an comfortable-looking chaise longue and sat down next to her. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Lucia shrugged.

“Not terribly hungry, but curious.”

“What would you like?”

“Surprise me.”

He reached into the bowl of honeyed dates and put a piece of fruit to Lucia’s lips. She nibbled on it cautiously at first, then reached up to hold his hand in place. The fruit now gone, she leaned towards his hand, licking the honey off his fingers.

“Rosa in Fiore, and fruit in honey,” she murmured. “What other memory will you throw at me tonight, _cavaliere_?”

Ezio ran his tongue over the lips stained with honey.

“You know you can take that thing off?” he suggested again.

“Perhaps it is better I don’t” she said. “Yet another memory and I may start to cry.”

Straddling the reclining chair, Ezio pulled Lucia onto his lap. He pulled the scarf off her face, then gently pushed her to lie back.

“I will not let you waste time on that, _demonia_ ” he promised, taking his shirt off. He leaned over her, nuzzling against her ear as he helped her remove her dress.

“If by tomorrow morning, or the morning after, for that matter, you have enough breath left to say anything other than my name, I shall consider my mission a failure,” he explained earnestly.

She pulled gently on his hair, making him look up. He smiled, looking into the glowing eyes.

“Aren’t you lucky to have such a short name, _cavaliere_?” Lucia whispered.

“We shall see,” Ezio replied.

***

The small cart had been loaded with Lucia’s wordly possessions, leaving room to spare. Renato busied himself with the horses. Wrapped in a thick shawl against the morning chill, Lucia listened to the endless stream of fatherly advice from Fra Domenico. Ezio hovered nearby.

Renato appeared at his side silently.

“Ready,” he said.

Ezio nodded. He watched as Fra Domenico gave Lucia his blessing and hugged her tightly, assuring her of his prayers. Lucia turned to Ezio.

“I hope you have a safe journey,” Ezio said quietly.

“I will, thanks to you,” she replied. “And if the road ever brings you by Assisi, you will know where to find me.”

He squeezed her hand. It felt cold and it trembled.

“I will, _demonia_ ,” Ezio promised. “I suppose I will not find you in a convent.”

She smiled reassuringly.

“There is no chance of that, unless I am painting the walls.”

Ezio helped Lucia onto the cart. She picked up something from the tidily packed crates behind her.

“This is for you,” she said, passing him a thin, carefully wrapped package.

Ezio felt the weight of the wood in his hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Safety and peace, _maestra_.”

She nodded, rasing a hand in salute. Renato flicked the reins. Ezio and fra Domenico watched the cart roll away into the morning mists. They made their way back towards the city gates in silence.

Fra Domenico cleared his throat.

“I am a lowlands man through and through,” he said. “Born in Campagna, never travelled far from Rome.”

Ezio grunted noncomitally.

“I’ve always hoped make a pilgrimage to the brithplace of our founder, St Francis, though,” fra Domenico went on. “But it is a hard and dangerous journey for an old man.”

Ezio was about the growl that surely God would protect his own. However, the slight smile on fra Domenico’s face stopped him.

“If I ever do,” fra Domenico wondered out loud. “I’ll be so free as to ask a stronger, more competent and well-seasoned traveller to come with me. For safety, of course, and his own benefit.”

Ezio clapped the older man’s shoulder.

“A good idea, fra Domenico. And you know where to find him.”

***

Ezio waited until silence had settled on the hideout. By the light of a single candle, he carefully unwrapped Lucia’s gift and leaned the painting against a stack of ledgers on his desk. He looked at it in silence for a while.

He could see the unruly strands of hair escaping around her face and melting into the shadowy, impenetrable darkness in the background. Lucia’s face looked back at him, the painted eyes reflecting the light of the candle in his hand. Her hands, so unusually still, rested next to the familiar clay jar full of brushes.

Ezio put the candle down. He spotted a row of thin letters below the folded hands. The golden lettering, painted to look like a carving in the wood, flickered and came alive in the candlelight. He read the short message in Latin.

“ _Ora pro pintora_ ,” he muttered. On impulse, he pulled the painting closer with both his hands and leaned his forehead against it. The rough edges of the wood panel tugged at his hair. He sighed against the painted wood, breathing in the scent of linseed oil.

He leaned the painting back. For a moment, his fingertips hovered over the glazed paint. He shook his head.

“Always so harsh, _demonia_ ,” he whispered before leaving the room. “You had to ask me for the one thing I cannot do.”


	12. Epilogue: After a Day Full of Words

Loading Helix chat client 3.3....... COMPLETE

Enter password: **********

Now enter the OTHER password: **********

Encryption protocol initialising… COMPLETE

***Uninstall 3.2, like, right NOW – security hole - RC***

**_THE_GRAND_RESTORER_ ** _has joined the chat_

**_HEART-OF-IRON_ ** _has joined the chat_

**_BLACK_FEATHER_ ** _has joined the chat_

HEART-OF-IRON: Well then

Black_Feather: phew

Black_Feather: i was not even the one in the oven and I hated reading Heart’s last report

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: That can’t have been easy.

HEART-OF-IRON: That man was a masterclass in self-control

HEART-OF-IRON: I really wanted to find out how the painting ended up where it did, but I didn’t have the strength

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Don’t apologise, please. You’ve done so much.

HEART-OF-IRON: Did I though

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Put it this way: at the very least, we now know of another female Renaissance painter, and they are still far and few between.

Black_Feather: pity you can’t publish half of it

Black_Feather: animus memories don’t really work in peer review

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Who knows? I may come across signora Fabbri in another place.

Black_Feather: what will you do with the painting?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Restore it and make sure it’s safely stored. After that, it’s out of my hands.

Black_Feather: let me think on that one for a bit, there may be some strings I can pull

Black_Feather: but for now, I gotta run

Black_Feather: don’t be a stranger, TG :P

**_BLACK_FEATHER_ ** _has left the chat_

HEART-OF-IRON: Do you really think we could find more of her paintings?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I would love to. And perhaps it would be worth paying a visit to Assisi. You never know what might come up.

HEART-OF-IRON: Be sure to let me know how it goes

HEART-OF-IRON: Unless you would like some company for that bit of fieldwork?

HEART-OF-IRON: TG?

HEART-OF-IRON: Say something

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Would you be interested in a road trip? As an expert consultant, as it were.

HEART-OF-IRON: Of course!

HEART-OF-IRON: B-Feather could use a break from me, I think

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Well, since I’ve been paid for this little restoration job, I can finally get the new car.

HEART-OF-IRON: Tell you what

HEART-OF-IRON: I can be there in a week at the latest

HEART-OF-IRON:I’ll hop on a train from here

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Perfect! Shall I meet you in Milan, then? We can hit the road from there.

HEART-OF-IRON: That would be great. I’ll let you know the time asap. And then I can fill you in on all the details that did not fit into my written notes XD

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Deal. Anything you need me to bring along?

HEART-OF-IRON: Yes, in fact... Can you get a bottle or two of Cesanese wine?

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: That’s strangely specific, but consider them bought. Anything else?

HEART-OF-IRON: Hmm.

HEART-OF-IRON: Some dried figs and a jar of honey

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Now I am *really* curious.

HEART-OF-IRON: I promise it will all make sense when i meet you in Milan

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: I can’t wait. : -)

HEART-OF-IRON: Me neither

HEART-OF-IRON: Good night TG

HEART-OF-IRON: See you soon

THE_GRAND_RESTORER: Good night until then, Heart <3

Closing Helix 3.3 client...

NO CONNECTION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My greatest thanks to everyone at ACT Discord who put up with my whingeing while writing, and especially to [Sophiaea16](https://sophiaea16.tumblr.com) for collating the playlist for my mental soundtrack (as well as putting up with my search for validation at two o'clock in the morning).
> 
> Thank you for reading, and get in touch on [Tumblr](http://servalans-flowers.tumblr.com/) or Discord anytime.


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